Tales from the edge of the morning sky

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Music Man

Before the applause, he stood, listening after playing, hearing the accolades, of the full house standing, his band having left the stage, a dream of musicians, having changed like the springtime skies of creativity he had journeyed through in decades across the world. 

Tall, in his early sixty of years, tousled hair, thin arms, black trousers, shirt and sneakers, he looked neat and relaxed, unplugged from the carefully coordinated array of pedals, amplifiers, drum kit, keyboards and accessories. All for the production of tapestries of music that he played through, feeling his way and teasing, creating complex, melodic, sublime, challenging  and exhilarating music that had lifted and reminded his audience.  Of their journeys of feelings, emotion. And most of all, travel, time and change across their decades of lives. 

He smiled,  and then sat down, the two lights focussed upon his bowed head as he began.

He crouched over his acoustic guitar and played. 

It was water, a stream, a small river of sunlight that glistened from the past that was now present, a now that filled the stage with golden ripples and remembering, fragments and melodies of places, times and people in lives no longer with our own. 

The river ebbed and flowed, eddies and currents, time without a pause, as if he was dipping into winds and waves of music that are always there, through us, about us, inside and out, as if somehow he was able to listen differently to the world, our passage of lives.

And, for just the briefest of moments create, hold, and ignite the candles of our lives, that are part of a greater tide, a wider sea, that plays to a deeper place that exists in all who walk through this place in the fleeting passage of years.

When he stopped playing, the silence was so great, so still, that time herself had stopped between the shadows of our lives. 

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Evening light, 

across the garden, 

shadows fall 

hours pass, 

slowly hidden, 

behind the wind.

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They sing tonight, of the soft hush of evening, the last blackbirds, before the dawn of morning skies, the daylight hours, fade into the afterglow of dusk, upon great flotillas, their sailing ships, turning upon invisible winds and the rising evening tides, but before I rest my eyes, to dream, and close the hours of day, whilst the shadows still lengthen, the sun slipping into the heart of the western sea, I think of you beyond the edges across the top of world and then at last, to turn and dream, from a place not far away….

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Moonlight

I cycled home under the moonlight, the pale blossom of starlight, the late evening afterglow, the heat of the day in cloaks and eddies of breathlessness, the last of fading shadows of an early summers day, for the lane was long and magic, stretched in curves of silver across the folds and ploughing of fields, the darkness seeping in fingers and shadows, as the night pressed and sighed, the hidden magic revealed, for there before me under the flickering patterns of silvers, the shimmering grey ripples of leaves, between the mosaics, the silhouettes of lifetimes, I saw a figure, still upon the verge of a meadow beneath an oak of trees, she was wrapped in gossamer threads of mists and moonlight, standing with open hands towards the river, that curved beneath the laden branches whispering time and the hush of hidden words, she was beckoning to the waters, the flow of life from then to there from now to come, whispering incantations and melodies of moments that seemed to pass before my eyes before they had begun. She was beautiful in the moonlight, her arms open and bare, I dismounted from my wheels, stood beside her, an earthly goddess rippling in starlight , standing, waiting for me, surprised, unexpected, meeting me there, she bade me look into the river, the flow of platinum, the deep reflections, swirls and wishes of choices and time, and then together we kneeled and took our hands and let them fall into the moving streams, she whispered quietly, softly and told me not to look away, and as I saw her face reflected in the water running in depths of laughter hours and days of dreams, we both walked into the waters and the rest of our lives it seemed

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Dawn

Dawn, 

I’m thinking 

of you 

this evening, 

for the light 

of day 

is fading fast, 

everything changes 

with the seasons, 

for only life 

and love 

shall blossom,

until this day

has passed.

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Swallows 

Tipping, 

turning, 

under the slate-grey, 

the thunder morning 

the deepening dark

of May time skies,

a weaving, 

of invisible lines

of invisible light,

above the fields

the pointing church,

the winding lane,

for June is near 

and high summer 

waits 

beneath the green,

the swallows, 

silent,

singing, here again.

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I left

I left 

the church,

the bells, 

and silence, 

and journeyed

deeper 

into the settling dusk, 

the skies were fading, 

further,

into the twilight evening 

the distant views

and rural hush,

and as I left 

for the country, 

into the quiet 

the fading 

of a summer’s day, 

I went further

through

the golden light 

of evening,

into the fading 

skies, 

to a place

so near

yet far away,

And there 

I followed, 

the birds 

still singing, 

in the early twilight  

where the quiet 

settles, 

in dapples 

of shadows,

in the company 

of the wandering 

and the whispers, 

the secrets,

of the solitary wind 

And along 

the path 

before me,

between the trees, 

under 

the twilight, 

the passing generations

of a thousand 

sunlights 

of stars, 

upon the wings,

of a coming of night,

was a rising moon

magnificent, 

a beacon of

sunlight, 

reflected,

alone, 

and yet undimmed,

for beyond 

was the end

the curve,

in the hidden country,

beyond, the

undiscovered,

along the open road

I was going home, 

and journeying

reaching 

inside my soul,

and not too soon,

for I’d left it

all behind 

the remains

of myself,  

of the last

the fallen, 

the forgotten day, 

between the spaces

of life, 

once again

time left

to say farewell,

to take these last 

of turns,

and slowly slip, 

so quietly away.

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No Words

Just the silence, 

the evening, 

the hush 

of distance, 

the closing 

of the day, 

distant bells, 

chime 

across empty spaces, 

open to the skies, 

the stars, 

and silence 

since you last passed 

through this way, 

for although the evening  

is fading, 

the night falling 

from light, 

into shadows, 

into the softness 

of dusk, 

I hold an image 

of you, 

in my arms, 

for dawn, 

I dream 

of you

your morning, 

for sleep

this night

I must.  

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Orchard Lane

Dawn awakens, 

clear skies 

after the rain, 

washed from the spring, 

May into summer, 

oceans of light

into morning blue,

Life continues, 

to sing again.

For June is waiting,  

in lengthening days,

the last blossom 

across the orchard lane

footsteps taken,

in the garden of years,

the fruits of time. 

another year, 

never the same. 

And so the light falls,

across the distance,

the shadows of hours

‘tis true,

so I’ll awaken 

my  heart 

and look to the east,

to this treasure 

of days

and life, 

once again, 

to remind of you.

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The first was the wind, 
warm and blustery, 
the blossoms 
of sunshine in disarray, 
as the sky darkened 
in frowns and fists 
of gathering clouds,
 shredding and tearing 
the heavens from billowing blue 
to towers of black 
and simmering shields 
of thunder gold 
and evening grey….

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