Setting my bags down near the crackling fire, especially lit for my arrival, I partake of niceties while my body aches from the lurch and pull, the hypnotizing rocking of the bolting train. Soon, I am shuffled on and told to rest. I stop at the door of this guest room, hesitating while time stands still. Inside, with bed made up so fancy, my comfort is mothers� prime concern as I re-visit my childhood room. I settle into my darling chair and glance around at my favorite things. To the left I see the fog from my window, haunting the schoolyard orange in the glow of somber morning light. The sun shall be out soon to burn away the fog, grace our gardens, brighten our faces and leave us with sun kissed freckles. I like the sun! My wistful fancies are soon lulled by a warm sunburst streaming in through my window, bringing in rainbows speaking statement such as art, over the peacock feathers on my wall. Clement light reflects from a whirling crystal prism, dangling from my window sill, and I hear sleeps whisper, and I sense dreaming call, and I see my warm bed begging for my surrendered retreat. I am charmed to the calling while shadows dance across my bed, as they insist to be my guests of lulling. I smile as they skip over my blankets from the gum tree in the nearby schoolyard of life.
Reminiscence falls
delighting a dying heart
childhood bed of womb |
