|
Post by Ivan Carswell on Jul 20, 2008 0:10:25 GMT -5
At dawn I dreamed of wispy clouds – I had the time to wield and watched the regimented lines of cirrus racing north by west; elusive strands of airy ice spread high across a gravid sky.
Each was less obsessed than speeding to a destination far-away, constrained in ever shifting shapes that fled to sea, off beyond the obfuscating lines of hills where they belonged as instanced in my mind enthroned in solemn dignity.
This afternoon the cumulus appeared, for so their dumpy lumps suggests, a- hung with sombre clumps descended from an aerie vastness. Tired cirrhosis of their leaner selves, they droop about the mordant blue and plod their way at least in ordered flow from west to east.
Tonight I’ll dream of stratus clouds and gentle rain to lift the shroud that binds the earth in powdered dust, arising in asthmatic puffs about our weathered feet; and sleep I will with cirrus wings to soar above the earthy things that strive to snare my clouded dreams. © 2007 I.D. Carswell
|
|
|
Post by Ross McCague on Jul 29, 2008 20:41:33 GMT -5
to soar above the earthy things that strive to snare my clouded dreams.
As if our whole life never happened, or was lived, at least in part, somewhere else. I do respond to such romantic heights, and I couldn't help reading 'childhood dreams' for the more congruent 'clouded dreams'.
|
|
|
Post by Ivan Carswell on Jul 30, 2008 15:07:52 GMT -5
And quite reasonable too, Ross. But it is less youthful reflections and more dealing with physical realities of drought - dreams tend to obscess on rain-bearing cloud!
|
|