Blooming Body

A dream to be told in a space so near and dear that the words escape without landing.

Sloping down the brief pause;

Waking a moment of uncertainty whilst my mind beckons with grace.

I wish to write, for this is not yet a flow but rather a preamble to the proceeding narration.

A story; gifted by gods and muses gentle in speech and touch.

A melody drifting, organic growth and orange peels decomposing.

Ground. Fungus, skeletons clothed by invisibles pasts.

A history made; a trade for renewed life.

.

A young seedling struggles to recognize that it is already a Tree; yet the moment it becomes aware, the tree struggles to remember that it has always been the seed too. (And) When the fruit grows, and falls gently below at the roots of its parent, the cycle renews; a spiral of growth and decay, (whichever way you look) it makes new seeds of us all.

.

These are our blooming souls, our bodies opening up like flowers bearing fruit and honey for the heavens above.