One Afternoon in a Forest

One Afternoon in a Forest

One afternoon I dozed in a dappled grove.
Somewhere between
here and there,
Somewhere between
light and shadow,
Somewhere between
word and image,
I dreamed.

I see a shimmering veil of green and yellow stripes
Flow behind the daughter of water,
Flow like silken hair as she steps onto the bridge,
Flow under the divide between yesterday and tomorrow,
Flow like amber trapped in the eternity of now.

I hear the lonesome creek ripple across pebbles,
sing a snaking song line between tree roots,
sing golden notes across mica-flaked sand bars,
sing hosannahs to the day-night-day journey,
sing not at all of the beginning or end.

I touch a pink petal dropped onto the isle of separation,
drift on the cool, clear water,
drift in lazy circles into a timeless eddy,
drift, warmth hungry, against a sun-lit boulder
drift, unknowing, toward the unseen fall.

I smell sweet peas, tangled and wild,
twirl past permission, boundaries and beliefs,
twirl into riotous, unbridled abundance,
twirl toward some unknown destination,
twirl perfume into the sweetened water.

I taste the conjoining of orange and purple,
wake as passion draws a measureless breath,
wake to the first sweet swelling of creative abandon,
wake to the crack of the boulder of expectation,
wake to the birthing ...
                                       of freedom.

by Joyce Wycoff