I hold still and listen a while.
The space around the core of me settles into a slow spiral of wonder,
As, once again I flow into the voice of swallow and rain gurgle.
These twin conversations have words that speak the old tongue, that dialect which some forgotten part of me understands.
Perhaps the speak of the taste of the air as the transient droplets melt into the swoopers ruby red necks.
Maybe the rain reminds me of the joy of the journey from Icelandic waterfalls to Hyning Wood limestone.
I hold still and listen a while.
Beyond words to describe how delighted I am you are at last writing your tender words and melding with your exquisite imagery.
Thank you Anne, yes I think I’m finally finding my way.