a living roof

I'm thinking about horses again, after watching a Western last night. It made me think of the horses on Kauai. These pictures now look to me like stills from a movie I've always wanted to star in. I've forgotten what it's like to be drenched in sunlight and almost-impossibly-festive colour.

Today's unconscious mental-loop from Tintern Abbey:

That time is past,
And all its aching joys are now no more,
And all its dizzy raptures. Not for this
Faint I, nor mourn nor murmur; other gifts
have followed; For such loss, I would believe,
Abundant recompense.

I promise soon to get onto another poem. Even though I think I could probably make do with this one for the rest of time. It seems to have something in it for every thought, feeling and situation in my life. Wordsworth, you wonderful crazy devil.

There's a bird singing away outside, singing an ecstatic and half-drunken waltz. I don't know what its name is, but it has always been my favourite evening singer. It has a huge range and its call is rhythmic and joyful - somehow reminds me of the sound of a burbling creek. Looking out the window at the grey skies and low mists, it sounds out of place. But when I open the window, there's that smell of spring... undeniable. So glad to be home, to have a day and a half of being on the land.

Being on the land - that's what I long for. The feeling that I can open the door, put my feet on soil - pull up the turf and bury myself in rich damp earth if I want to. When I'm in the city I actually feel that I could be on a space station. Nothing but concrete and metal underfoot. It's hard to believe that where there are gardens planted, you could tunnel down into real dirt. But that's a rant I've ranted too many times to need to re-rant any further at the moment.

Ooh- a fragment of a dream from last night just came back to me. A gorgeous scene. I was in Hawaii, in a new home. The walls were solid rows of living trees, and there was no roof - just the starry sky above. It felt wonderfully safe and magical, but I wondered whether animals might jump on us while we were sleeping. The solution was simple - at the touch of a button, the canopy shifted and spread until the thick branches formed a roof for the house.

I've just spent a half hour trying to write about a revelation I had the other day. In the end, I've erased it. For some reason, I can't put it into words properly right here and now. Perhaps it's just not a revelation I need to share. Or maybe the idea hasn't formed completely enough in my mind yet to bring outside of myself. So, I think I'll just let 'er go.

Time to go practice anyways.

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