In a rather jabberwoky place on the moors of placid mists and night’s dim kiss, my face could find no grimace, for a land so rich in untapped joy was ...
In a rather jabberwoky place on the moors of placid mists and night’s dim kiss, my face could find no grimace, for a land so rich in untapped joy was hardly a thing to dismiss. No sun light shone, no golden gleam, just the a light white and uncanny as bone. So driven with mist and unseen nooks, skies that could not cope with the simple ponderings of the foolish mind, it was a tinging peak of eternity, a peace one could find. “Where a place is so like the unlikely...
I gaze in it’s gaze and I am confound to find no answer in any of my bewilderments of such an out stretching land.” I looked as one would look into a mirror, and not realize there own self’s familiar stare. In this distance came a soft tone, a man’s voice in which understanding shown, yet the voice was detached of me, and had no awareness of my presence, and before me the land became the dim form of inside a humble home. The man so free spirited sat in his chair as he sprawled out in his acomadating lair, “Twas not a day in life when I wished not a cloud to dampen the suns sweltering purge upon my brow...yet not a day when I have not wished for a quenching pond, yet none has been collected by the rains for my pleaser or peace.” With a stir I was compelled to make my self known to him, he, so sturdy and rooted in a life I wished to weave into. So meekly I spoke, “I can be as collected rain, I can be a pond, for such a pure fellow as you, you must be eased to peace...for a heart as yours truly deserves to be quenched, dear sire.” The man’s deep and focused gaze did not flicker in any direction, it stayed pined like an arrow to one spot as he seemed unsure of my voice, then I heard him murmur under a determined strength that seemed always to ring in even his meekest of tones, “A voice like the spring winds I have heard in my mind, though not of my thoughts...they could not be...a women in the mist waiting for me.....a women I can not see...this can not surly be. Is this a dream that I abide, a place where unworldly secrets can linger and hide.” With a stand, I wondered at these words, the moors slowly devouring the image of this dreaming man, with an echoed plea I cried out, “Do not leave, I am real! You must know this with out a doubt!” Yet all that was there before my wetted stare, the blurred emptiness of the unnamed moors, “I am dreaming. Not just he.” And the swirling skies ripped of there wonders, a cloth woven perfect then torn, and what was beyond them came my opened eyes, and awakening.
A trill so head pounding I could not bare it! with a blind searching I pounded my alarm clock with anger, for I had wanted to never realize I was dreaming. “Again...the same man that I dreamed on the bus.” With a sore throat I squeaked out, my words burning. The morning light made its self known as it brought on the boost of the day’s mocking strum, no different then the last to my ears. Who is this man, have you seen him before? “No.” Are you certain, “He’s to unworldly for me to of ever seen...in my world.” In your world perhaps. “Hum?” My lips felt bruised as they attempted to sip my routine morning tea, a roasted green tea that filled my lunges with a steamy warmth and familiarity, still hot and foaming. “Mmmm.” I rubbed my cheeks against my cold awakening hands, I moaned in a tiresome way. Feel like a morning run, a jog...or simply a walk...or even lesser yet...a stroll? “Possibly...yes.” I murmured in a yawn, thinking to my dark pool of tea.
Took no more notice of time then a flash and I was partly dressed and out my door. Not a noise to be heard, to cold for even the most playful of neighbor hood children to be out, still, I took little to no notice of the temp...my layers of clothes wrapped me in a comfortable warmth. ...
Part 3: The bird jogging
