Stillness irks her. Like a naughty child, she pesters around the armchair blowing “chase me” into my ear. As usual, I succumb. In a prolonged moment, walking boots replace slippers; warm home comforts meet with a cold slap. At first the atmosphere is hostile, but she begins to weave her magic, pointing to Red Kites etched on Cumulonimbus; a distant woodpecker hammering through moving trees. She runs into empty rooms, turning on lights and painting “I LOVE YOU” on vacant walls. We embrace and my reason for being, flows.
With every step
She leads the pen to places
Where dreams are hidden
© Davy D 2017
Thank you to Charles, at The Reluctant Poet, for the conversations about Calliope and planting the seed, and to the Sailorpoet for thoughts on his recent travels and helping to coin the phrase “motion must be your muse”.