Waiting for something

This morning the Oracle gave me a cadralor. I had the impression she had more to say, and she did.

Waiting for something

We stand by the lake in the red dusk
among black trees of bare winter,
waiting for the white ship
that bears all the things we yearn for,
things we have not yet imagined.

There is music shining through the mist
that dresses the trees in ball gowns,
and we dream of sea spray,
the sting of salt
and the plunging prow.

She is there in the shadows,
poppy red, blood red,
the mother of all things,
the sun and moon
and these bare winter trees,

beauty in the honeyed light
where thrushes sing,
dead leaves rustle in rain-patter,
and footprints in dark earth
cradle curled trees clad in acorn seed.

This time, she says, do, be.
Follow the trailing songs
and the pitter-patter of the rain,
unbuild the fences,
make a sea of gardens.