If you had told me of yellow tipped, jagged edged, fluffy headed wonders that solidly squish or whimsically flit about, as they please, and at their leisure, would not I then have deigned to set foot on path that would bring me yonder, for the sheer mystically majesty, the solid earthiness, the rich pungency, by which they are so defined?
Or, should once you have told me, in terms most explicit, of bluebells dancing in the wind, and the smell of birch bark that curls up inside one's head and smells of small, childish joys, how far would I have crawled, should the need arise, simply to, from a distant, their silvery dress espy? If you had told me, I would have flown, in ways unimagined when first their roots began descent into hedonist loam, where your toes too dug in.
For, where the loves of youth hold sway, under bright light moon, and well washed day, is a place unparalleled in all of that which lays under sun or cloud, for new love to bloom, and to grow strong and proud
This is, then, a time of wonder and delight, shot straight in the head, stabbed straight through the heart, and gone down, oh so not gently, to that great goodnight. For, what started out as an exclamation of sharing, has, through fear and forgotteness, turned to a deep welling dark ink spot of sadness, a blood letting by writing, perhaps a final ending. For, if you had wanted to capture my heart, ever, ever, you should have told me that there are dandelions there.
Fabulous imagery..an incredible read!!!
January 2011