Lemurian Gypsy Camp

CALM

I wonder at the stillness here –
a gift, perhaps,
to quiet my churning spirit;
or curse, still blessed,
to draw my soul home again.

I embrace the late dawning here –
no planned alarm,
my love is still abed at eight;
and even I,
did catch an extra wink or two.

I wallow in green hush doldrums –
magnolia walls,
and gravel roads of tactile crunch;
old stone paths,
reveal flume fed ponds and waterwheels.

There’re many who would walk ahead –
with chosen mate,
blindly following behind a
a duty pace,
while for me ‘tis a quested calling.

It is for this I am trained
in found stillness,
guarding point in search of stumble;
that she might reach
out with senses beyond my ken.

For her the sun is always late –
dark clouding mist,
which allows more knowledge of moon;
love’s hid powers,
that reach ‘cross the room in laughter.

Yet, this stay is but a wrinkle –
a hole in time,
and we must return to the land
of quick busy-do,
and the work the Goddess gave us.

It came in a soul-blink of now –
that we do not
dare linger here in such stillness;
a world apart,
for there are no birds singing here…

nor cats curled at our feet,
not the quiet whispers of Tegsh,
nor the home built
with heart and hand,
from chaos.