LUCIDITY

This dream's steeped in mystical nostalgia,
it's visions clear as day-sight. I have returned
to childhood country home, driven
I suspect, by the monotony of stagnant inertia.

Naked, I stand, without embarrassment
outside the hand crafted garden gate
painted forest green by Father's hand,
and each post adorned by a carved ornament.

Nothing has changed: laburnum arch, all summer
a profusion of blossoms the colour of sun,
giving way to flower beds, vegetable gardens, then woodland.
Such an idyllic scene flares irresistible to this dreamer.

At the very tips of lofty fir trees, buzzards circling.
Below, King George's playing field, where we four
used to play our legendary games in uncut grass:
childhood's magical heyday, imaginations free-running.

With sun sinking low, my Mother's voice
calling me home for bed.
And I hide again - just as I did then, in the undergrowth
forcing her to come seek me. Proving, I guess, that I have a choice.

Oh the bliss of re-living that distant innocence:
I, no longer naked, but draped in daisy chains and buttercups,
dancing among the trees and ivy - a latter-day Wood Nymph
spiralling, spiralling, all the way around our boundary fence.

Brown as a berry from all summer outdoors,
I squat behind the giant gnarled Oak under cover of ferns.
But my Mother's hawk-eyes still miss not a thing:
with reddening buttocks, in floods of tears, I'm roughly man-handled indoors.



I am taking a couple of weeks off to go touring, so will catch up with you again soon.
Until then...Happy Blogging! *smiles* xoxoxo