Wednesday, February 8, 2012
Past a stone wall and a rushing stream.
The wind is cool, the sun is warm upon my face.
I've been here before I know this place.
The path rises and I climb.
I've trod here before in another time.
The house stands there high upon the hill
made of strong wood and heavy stone.
And deep within my bones I hear
the echo loud and clear-
Several years ago I was flipping through a Somerset Studio Magazine and came across one of the free scrap booking papers that the magazine publishes in each issue. It is a photo of a path leading up to a stone house possibly a church and it is printed on vellum.
I was struck by the feeling of such a deep familiarity with the photo of the path and old stone house. I tore out the page and kept it. But it continued to haunt me.
A few nights ago I had a reoccurring dream where I'm walking in a village. I like visiting this place.
It feels and looks like it's early Autumn . There are large old trees and a stone wall between the path that I am walking on and a rushing stream. Up the hill and to my right sits a house, it feels like it is mine or a close relatives.
I never make it to the house, I always wake up.
But I love visiting this place, the trees, path and the river. I always wish I could stay longer.
I have used that vellum photo in a Home and Garden Altered Art Book that I created recently and wrote the poem.
It's in the photo above.