the snow was falling already when i walked the puppies, little fairy flakes that shimmered like crystals on the puppies' fur. the sheer loveliness of the landscape as i stare outside my window entrances me, leads me teasingly into that place where characters sing and live and breathe.
the ones i sense waiting there are not the ones i was expecting. i was expecting amazonian rainforests, inca shaman, cat-eyes glinting green. instead i see the glint of bronze and steel, of fire and stone, and yes - i hear Beloved groan - horses.
it's my own fault. last week, at the behest of the Voice, i purchased a cd. the rational reason i told myself was that i wanted to replace a favorite cassette tape. when it came, i resisted opening it for several days. it's almost as if i knew where the music was going to lead me. now it's playing as the snow falls and a fresh pile of old manuscript sits in front of me. i sense a Presence behind the paper.
dive in, says the Fool i drew this morning. follow us, say the drums. watch me, whispers the snow.
and furthermore, the war must end. blessed be.