The romance of Ravel stretched out through the trees of the forest as long as the eye could see. The field was just around this corner or that one … I weren’t so sure. A haze coated the mossy floors and hints of orange and sepia peeked through an opening e’ery so oft.
I could live here a while I thought while lazily strolling the thick of the aging oaks and random pines. The pomander of distant flowers caressed my nose with a hint of autumn in its linger. T’were like a gentle kiss to remind me of a world I am sorely denied while conforming to the mundane haps. Lousy afternoons of fake smiles with lingering blips of horrid noise and glowing lights, my mind rockets to a plateau of subconscious environs.
There were brief encounters with cycling thoughts of what ifs. No artist would resort to a confined space and feel pleasantly absorbed and fulfilled. We commonly seek out a freedom that doesn’t exist in a cubicle or other workspace. The little deaths of that confinement can also turn into a grueling chapter about loss and disassociation with your peers. It is amazing what I have personally used as fuel for scribe.
Now I wanted to know what I could do to embrace this growing need, and what steps I could take to obtain my every dream. Have you ever had that a-ha! moment while also staring at the reality of it. Sometimes I wonder if something about it is lying to me in order to temporarily seize me in the exact position I am at until it feels like setting me loose into the world I belong in.
Running through the hazy environs of the forest would indeed free my soul. A heavy dark cloud would dissipate and the rains pouring of blessed tears. This is the land of forgotten dreams! A borrowed moment suggests the way towards the field and sea. The shore of magical things I thought; if only I could reach you now …