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Thursday, June 14, 2012

Sketchbook Writings

~ From my Sketchbook Writings, June 14th 2012 ~
[after a long night of insomnia which transformed into the gift of a pre-dawn beach walk]
It's colder than I expected, a world of gray and sound and clear orbs of jelly washed up on the beach.  I can not walk a straight line here; the damp imprints I carelessly leave behind weave and warp in a pattern of crazy.
I pick up another feather, this one tinier than the last, and understand something instinctual about humanity's need to adore themselves.
I need to wear feathers.
I need communion.
I need to imbibe the feeling of flight, feel the tug of wind across my scalp and the yearning of gravity toward my airborne hips.
I need the solitude of fog to wash through my chest, spitting out those ten thousand grains of sand I managed to pick up along the way.
I need the fire of dawn to burn off these lies I forgot to disbelieve, to leave a hot core of truth in its wake.
And then I realize:
this is no longer about the walk.
* * *


Jenna said...

Wishing you all that you need from your days. You'll find a way to turn that gritty sand into a pearl. xx

AnDee said...

Perhaps it's about the flight...

{Those grains. You. Your words. Soul loofah.}

Gorgeous. As always...

prairiegirl said...

Those ten thousand grains of sand landed here. A reminder to all of us: wear feathers, love one another and follow one of the four agreements ~ have impeccable speech. Such a beautiful and heart tugging post, Dove. And gorgeous pics.

Brandi said...

Here's to the radiant truth, and the courage and sight to no longer carry what isn't ours.

UmberDove said...

Here Here ladies, I'm glad you are here to share.

Cat said...

as do I sweet sister
as do I

love and light

creative quest said...

So lovely as always, my feathered friend. This interweb is a lovely thing in that i feel that i am finding a flock of like minded chicadees, out on winged turns through the air currents and drafts, lifting us up, up, up.