planning a trip

Yesterday, more than 200 swans graced the shallows of salmon arm bay. They ate heartily, napped in the grass and prepared for the long northern trip. I am off to see them this morning, unless first light was the signal to fly. They are so evocative of fairy tale worlds memories of my daughters curled tightly against me as we read hans christian andersen’s seven swans in bedtimes long ago. I know how my day begins today, and the following attachment tells of the ending of day, on this date a few years back. The what lies between is the unknown. Off I go to find out how that page writes itself.

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moon murmers

almost in the dream place,

i heard the moon whispering

so softly

whispering.

i slipped on your warm jacket

and with my slippers inside your boots

i stepped into the night.

my breath made halo moons

warm in the night air.

something walking in the woods

made the sound of weighted steps

but oh, the world was quiet

and smelled of wet things.

spring in cedars

spring in pine trees

spring in birch bark.

wispy branched arms swayed

in the moonlight

in the dreamplace

where i am clothed in

your clothes and

my soulskin

april fool beneath the march moon.

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