Caution now and then the laughter of strings from harps as happens when verses dance along these pages of parchment and tin pictures. Dust spreads across this land as the too much wind and too late water cannot not spread trickles and tickles of streams and lakes and oceans of fresh liquid across a salt less sea. Lifelines of service—tonight we caress soft sounds and submit to our songs.
The dancing skates of wheels and those of ice rails arrive to use by feet and ancient selves of balance and twists and turns and freedom without the gravity of graves as again the singing strings of violins fill the evening with song and rhythm and rhyme. And! Fiddlers play music—lately into the night and dancers form circles toward fires of light and away from darkness or the empty space of silence.
Together stories of life are magnificent. Tales and lies and glories and lies and the tall words of historic wars and heroic praise not required when the fiddlers play true sense of liquid verses and the movement of peace endings and hopes beginning in the fires of spirit strength and life’s power. Everlasting is this spirit and life begins and ends as the fiddlers play.
You do come home. This is a place where monsters do not dwell except in the mystery of children’s thoughts and their laughter. You do come home, where bombs of war do not shatter dreams or disturb determination of freedom—folly and lives. This is our place without borders. Only the religions of kings attempt to divide and conquer spirit wings and fiddlers speak.
Our bags of sleep are warm and not the humble man’s strait jacket. We gather to face fire for light and we turn away to sleep. Quick is the night and into the mists of morning’s gathering we shift and shape and move as substance occurs and flesh begins—warm of blood and energy. As day we begin another time without restrictions or reasons or thoughts except to begin as light spreads and we muscle our way into another way of day.
And! Beautiful you are…