In the Hush

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In the distance the land and sky collide,
the wind picks up, the night closes in
and I’m lost in the slow tumble down,
the fear of it, the mildew, dust,
the shadows in the deep reaches
of dream sleep, and all fades to black…

I’ve lived my life thinking this
was all there was of it –
shapes in the dark,
reflections from a mirror,
times of illusion, times of loss –
nothing was ever planned.

A voice speaks inside my head:
‘Here is your starting point.
Here it all begins’
and I know I’ve travelled far
having walked part-way before
by the trees, their leaves caught
in a silver moon and a net of starlight.

But now the rain pit-patters
off the windows, the clouds
lower like a lid, and the truth
stays just beyond me out of reach.
I turn over with no other thought
but for your breathing form –
the hush in the air, the birdsong,
the salty taste on your lips.

©2013 Louise Hastings

Warm Currents

Photo credit: Louise Hastings

Photo credit: Louise Hastings

When I woke this morning,
not really awake,
paddling along the surface
of a dream like a swan,

I thought this must be
what a soul is like,
always there
but hidden on the other side of dark.

I could be the wind or trees
or a bird under starlight
or the ripples on the lake,

but I’m not me
until your currents lift me
and I rise into air.

©2013 Louise Hastings

Lady of the Lake

Photo credit: Louise Hastings

Photo credit: Louise Hastings

Beyond these hills in a darkening sky
the wind blows in a gust of stars

and I dream of flying, stepping off
this plinth of stone, to stretch my wings

and fly like the birds do, in wind and sun,
over earth and trees. I searched for this

wild place, became its guardian, watched
it change as I changed, my legs, my arms,

my face; I looked upon them like they were new
to me, all the cracks and storm-blown bits.

And as I stand alone among these empty hours,
I wait for sunrise, the shaft of orange light

that brought me warmth and hope
before I heard the music and entered fire.

 

 

Copyright @Louise Hastings 2013

Another Chance

Strong morning sunlight
and a single spider’s thread
stands between me
and there, a world of dew-drops,
silent winter frost. I look up
to see a chaffinch land
in a flash of white wing feathers,
slate blue capped and rosy breasted
flitting along the hazel bush
and ice-coated grass. The sky
slightly deepens into corals, blues
and I tiptoe back inside the house
to write these words, to rest
inside this stillness, delay the day
that’s waiting for another chance.

 

 

Copyright Louise Hastings 2012

Sensory Perception

Photo credit: Louise Hastings ~ Dragon in Glastonbury

There is a dragon
perching on a rock,
holding out his wings
to the wind
that sweeps across the bay.
I can see his pale
translucent skin,
his eyes caught by the light
thrown from the sun
and while we speak
of legends, fire and stuff,
he bows his head to mine,
listens gravely as I talk.
Or so it seems –
a sensory perception
as real as you or I.

 

 

© 2012 Louise Hastings