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Last night I dreamed of all the paths and woods of my childhood. All the places I had walked , rode pink bicycles or spotted ponies had become streams that widened into rivers. I swam without effort or pain past the warmer seasons of my life. Painfree traveling doesn't hapen in the waking world so I knew it was a dream. I sped by daylilies and beehives into the bright sandy pines then the cool montains with their brightly dressed trees. All the while tasting ice cream, blue berries, honey and wood smoke from the campfire. All the things my father gave me.
My Dad claimed to be fine today and asked to take me out and we went together to B&N. I still had a gift card my XO gave me for Christmas. I by-passed the SF & fantasy section in favor of poetry.While I enjoyed what I was exposed to I've never read much of it beyond what I needed to for school back in the neolithic ages. The craving for poetry was partly the need for something different and partly to spite the OX who wold expect me to buy a Star Trek book. I end up with poems by Mary Oliver. How did I know to get this without really looking. They were selected off the shelf almost carelessly .
The first poem I read traveled the path of the dream I had just the night before. Of course the poet didn't leave out the pain so it felt more like memory. BTW when Dad and I stopped for an ice cream on the way home I wasn't the one who brought it up.
My Dad claimed to be fine today and asked to take me out and we went together to B&N. I still had a gift card my XO gave me for Christmas. I by-passed the SF & fantasy section in favor of poetry.While I enjoyed what I was exposed to I've never read much of it beyond what I needed to for school back in the neolithic ages. The craving for poetry was partly the need for something different and partly to spite the OX who wold expect me to buy a Star Trek book. I end up with poems by Mary Oliver. How did I know to get this without really looking. They were selected off the shelf almost carelessly .
The first poem I read traveled the path of the dream I had just the night before. Of course the poet didn't leave out the pain so it felt more like memory. BTW when Dad and I stopped for an ice cream on the way home I wasn't the one who brought it up.
