Again, i awaken perched at the top of my favorite oak
The gentle wind blew me up here — Captured me from my nighttime safety –
—— Then it sang me a lullably.. In a low, haunting moan. I remember falling, but to sleep, not into danger.
I dreamed i was a blue nude.. Matisse painting me.. Then i sat with him, and we sipped wine.
While the wind sang its calm, pastel verses —— Monet’s Lilies. Vibrant red poppies, in song – Cezanne’s apples.
In my tree, i’m still nude, my black silk nightgown set free.. I’m pale in the moonlight, and the stars now sing with the wind. ——
Again, i drift away. I fly over Paris, Nice and the Dordogne — Is it true, or do i dream it? I fly, but my tree holds me fast, secure —-
In another dream, i wear pink, and i dance for Degas! But i find i prefer joyful Matisse blue
————— I awaken again, and Orion sings, his hunt unsuccessful. I want to tell him to rest. Listen to the wind! Postpone the hunt. Dream! Dream of passing time and love. Light, not darkness. But until light, cast off your sadness. Let the wind sing you to sleep. Let the forest hold you in its arms……..