photo-4England has a way of awakening the poet in us all. Here’s the first part of a piece I call “The Evening,” written in Glastonbury, home to King Arthur lore, the Tor, The Chalice Well, an Abbey House, and a curious trinket shop that calls to you from the center of town…

The Evening

She was running fast,
and I was alongside her,
running myself,
Through a forest—
lush and green
a few yards to her left.
We ran quickly,
this woman and I.
Darkness was settling in.
The evening.

I remembered saying goodnight to my companions
And going to my room
in the Abbey House
Jet lagged, and groggy
How I got out here, and where I was, I didn’t know
Together we ran, and all I knew
Was that she and the forest were ancient
And I, of the second millennium.

Had we run slower,
I would have lost glimpses of her
between the trees and bushes.
Had I looked past her,
I would have seen the forest stretching,
to the green horizon.
I could see her plainly,
Her long, white dress
And her hair the color of fire.
Tree after tree and
thick plants, bluish-colored bushes,
and the occasional blades of grass
all blending into one another as we ran.

Her gaze was steady,
Locked on the distance ahead.
She was solid, whole.
Not beat up by the world, but
Knowing it, understanding it
I didn’t watch my feet,
and I didn’t stumble,
as if I weren’t my normal self, either.

My heartbeat, pounding in my ears,
sounded like a drum,
and I realized it was the heartbeat of
all living creatures around me,
echoed by the trees.
I felt the drumbeat pulsing in me—
coming from the center of me.
My arms reached forward and back,
Timed with the drumbeats,
my legs were striving forward,
pulling me closer to the horizon,
and further,
from what lay behind.

~

Tomorrow, the second half of “The Evening.” Until then, my first book, Upside Down Kingdom, will keep you company. It’s on Amazon.

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