You headed out in the sunshine between the days of grey to be along the river, to soak in the warmth, to take in the bounty of the solar system.
As you head towards the valley, to the river, from the hilltop, you start to realize that there is a thickness forming, there is a skirt in the distance along the coastal range – there is a density diffusing the very light that you seek.
Do you pause? Do you turn around? Do you hold steadfast in your quest for warmth and light?
No.
You breathe and feel the thickness.
You feel the cold.
You continue to the river.
You find yourself in a viscous mist with the tops of ancient poplars nearly touching the blue, but out of reach.
You become a swimmer in a sea of quiet. Another world has taken you into its depths. The colors, the light, the presence – focus something within.
A light from another existence peeks through in ephemeral fade-in/fade-out transformations. It is your sun and not your sun, for it shows you herself in a softer, cooler, yet more defined and sharper locus of points around a center of being.
A field is transformed in color, in shape, in stillness – the mist moving tendrils through its openness to create soft structure – calling you to pause.
Eventually, you become saturated with the cold and otherworldliness. The motions of quiet birds, the budding January branches, the slowly revealing path are left behind, and you find yourself emerging from a dream.
