Clouds gather along the far edge

Clouds gather along the far edge

Of the bay

Rolling and tumbling slowly

Ancient gods

At war with one another

A stampede of wild stallions

A legion of ancient warriors

Powdered white dust

Kicked up by unshod hooves

Billowing over distant hills

Marking the rim of the known world

So easily mistaken

As magical

The heat of the sun

Lightness of touch

A salt crust breeze

Drifting in from the sea

There is mystery in believing

All and nothing

Is possible without

The allowance of imagination

A position may remain

But an outlook

Can turn about itself

Between one unbound thought

And the next

Let go the tethering string

The spirit will soar

Lifted on high

Until glacial bergs

Become a snowy tundra

A mist-filled valley

A veil of infinite dreaming

Loosely draped

About my shoulders

As I sit in wonder

At the splendour

In the moment of this

Mindful flight

It feels so right

Even as its magic

Slips away in afterthought