~*~*~
The butterflies of worry are skipping rope, and time is
dangling from an ever-shrinking road. Nerves and the jittery expectation that
something will go wrong, give way to the devastating acceptance that it has. The sinking swirl of these bitter emotions seem to hold sway over the air itself,
for as seconds slip away too fast for time, the clouds remember they have held
too long, the tears so many of us refuse to let show. They let them all fall then,
cloaked in the costume of rain; quiet screams sent to kill the ground.
Then comes fear. A cold, wormy possibility that it has
all been for naught, a wasted courage. That the joyful anticipation that’s being singing
to you for months was really only cruel apparition. Time turns from a quiet
roar to a full out scream, and you dash up - fall sideways - zig when you
should have skipped - turn around and around in a sacred circle you didn’t even
know you were in. A reprieve…but it’s brief and mixed with a vicious angst and song, almost negating it’s numbing balm of relief. Still, you can’t help but let yourself feel
embraced by the sweet blur of brown and blue and calm responsibility that no
longer rests entirely on your shoulders.And hope, always hope.
But time has now almost reached that uncrossable line.
So run girl, run girl, run girl, fly. Float above the
crowd. Take that wind sending magic through your hair and use it to give you
the speed to push those heels – flip, pip, flipping – along the pavement into a
flying soar. Move up that hill on legs that know nothing of impossibility, let
your eyes gleam in the golden light of your goal so close before you. One brief
barrier and at last you are through....
and stepping into a labyrinthine world of
chaos and jewels and vaudevillian delights. Lights flicker and glow and shine.
Every delight prickling along your skin. Screaming, laughter, painted minds,
faces twisted into anathemas of sadness. Souls drawn inexplicably towards a
firestorm of reality and art - an icon of magnificence. A phoenix who has called
out each of our names, and we have all come running, dancing in on her trails
of fire.
~*~*~
