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Sunday, March 20, 2011

Night Meditation

Lucid, I rise from yawning sheets and make my way through halls. White lace sways and drapes drift on lunar sighs. My hands brush a wood screen door that was never locked, and I emerge to a quiet place. Flat stones, still warm from a long gone evening sun - like petals against my feet, and I walk with silent purpose to a garden I've never seen. Moonlit colors are blue and grey. Scarce violet whispers of yesterdays and gates open to a little place where I am always home. The path leads me to a humble bench of stone. I take my rest there alone and not alone. Midnight fragrance fills the air of flowers and me. Lights speak in muted twinkles and tell me it's ok to sleep. The bench is sure, and I am safe. I lie down and look up through trees. Branches that dust the stars protect me. Sleepy wings come to enfold and blue light bathes me to dreams.

tina jones
"Rain on Stone"
Photograph


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