Saturday mornings are the best. There is something so peaceful about easing into wakefulness with the shifting canopy of light rather than through the harshness of the blaring alarm. I like sifting through the dreams as if they were silt carried and deposited by the meandering river of sleep. I float in and out of that water and gather closely to me the fragments of throughts that become dreams, and dreams that become thoughts. At times, I cannot untangle which is which, and have no desire to try. It is my favorite way to wake up, the day just unfolds from such a morning slowly, as if it must sun itself to find some energy. So my thoughts run dreamily today.
There is a poem from Tolkien that Treebeard, the Ent recites to one of the hobbits.
Beneath the roof of sleeping leaves
And dreams of trees untold
When woodland halls are green and cool
And the wind is in the west
Come back to me
Come back to me
And say my land is best
I always like it, and have been dreaming of writing a song about such immense longing. That kind of emotion, that pierces through the heart and spans many lifetimes always calls to me to form melodies and lyrics. I wasn't sure how to start it until walking with my family one night in the darkened woods. The stars were clear and in the encasement of the steep hills of the ravine near where I live, the city lights couldn't reach us, so the stars went on forever. As we walked up the easement, my son asked me "how do the stars walk?". I could feel my eyes going inwards and the rising of the sweet feeling of melody overtaking.
Thus starts another song
The stars, they have walked in your absence
The saplings have grown to the sky
The scent of your skin no longer plagues me
Nor remembrance of your eyes
Come back to me my lover
Come back to me...
