Impossible Things
"Why sometimes I believe in six impossible things before breakfast!" And then I sing about them through poetry, whether in Florida with a crow or beneath a tree at Glastonbury Abbey in England.
All shall be well, and all shall be well and all manner of thing shall be well. Lady Julian of Norwich/medieval English mystic
From the balcony,
wave watching, reverencing
the sleek reach of the palms,
the rippling echoes of white sands
when a crow alights – a ballerina en pointe
upon the railing.
I have come to the coast to recuperate
after an endless illness,
and, after a week of good mornings,
this is the closest Crow has agreed to be coaxed yet.
I crow, too,
enjoying the silly, decidedly unpoetic pun –
Lady Julian and Alice, you see,
frolic with me,
children building sandcastles,
gulls skimming waves.
While beneath the seas, mermaids weave
pearls and galleon droppings into their hair,
and beyond the blue sky, stars leave the barre
to begin their floor work in earnest.
All is curioser and curioser.
All is well indeed.
Why not share the Red Queen’s madness?
Why not believe, before breakfast,
in answered prayers,
in plenitudes and swells of impossible things?
A poem begun over a month ago in Florida and edited over the ocean as I winged my way to England for a pilgrimage to ancient sacred Celtic/Celtic-infused sites ranging from Stonehenge to the ruins of Glastonbury Abbey.
Where, later, on a beautiful patch of lawn where an abbey pillar once towered, a Septuagenarian singer sang a hymn with a tree even older than she is – both of us forever young.
Stay tuned.
But, first, please don’t neglect to click on the little heart. It nudges the algorithm as you’re no doubt aware…Thank you. xox