Prose

Shifting Tides of Long Ago: Fates Destined Hand

The laughing pine, a constant friend, shelters an aging call whilst the tightening bounds of a yesteryear catches me in its thrall. A rising sun of always the same casts my shadow into the day, but the shading ripples of the pines embrace casts its echo far away, from me.

The restrictive casing of my inner song, reminds me of its time, as leaves that sway amongst the trees where I belong, fall before my grown up eyes. I sit a top a moss draped stone aware that life is innumerable, and the shifting tides of long ago whisper to a time inevitable. I see the world as clear as I can, only trimming the edges of the worlds that I cannot, and as a cooling breeze takes my trembling hands, guiding my pathways traveled, they reveal all pathways forgot.

I recognise moments of long ago and tremble at their message, but understand all is my choice upon traces of carved and etched passages. Wild finch songsters share their music with my choices for another day, and with each birds flocking chorus the laughing pine reveals a new name.

I feel the streams of bark and wood encase my dancing toes as the laughing pine embraces my form making me its own. As each newness covers my form, the only differences that I feel, is the shedding of a life’s acceptance of pain, with natures bounty echoing trails of lost and remembered, the things humanity has destroyed or engineered.

I now move in unison with natures furies and dance upon her winds, swaying with an earths call and I dance to its majestic bounty with my new name, a gift from natures dreams, a name that can only be heard by the called.

Melody catches within my breath constricting artistic movements, its music floats on shifting winds dragging futures pasts from my perceptions. Raging tendrils curl and drift reaching a golden sky and from within cloud and mist is the lasting moments where once was a human ‘I’, and with each drift on blue gray skies, the golden parakeet caws, and all drifting energies of lost and new, spark across fresh skies like before.

An aching swollen braking bank tears anew ground swelling tides. Rising, flowing, open ways gush their inners to the stars, whilst whistling, woven spanning rays to shine their songs both near and far.

Broken moments of seconds ago float and cast on trailing winds, with covered lights and silvered trails reaching for the heart within, and as silence ebbs its trailing ways all roaring echoes ride on wild winds high, whilst another front edges and combs the showering raindrops of goodbyes.

Falls from cloud in mirrored haze, pooling wisdoms reach for time, and secret murmurs of never again, steal the song from my crying eyes. Rattle and quakes of clay and sand form a pond both lilied and panned, as misting fogs trace the day, to seal fates destined hand.

©Karen Eastland

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