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Wednesday, May 8, 2013

Path to destiny

DSCF5885Every once in awhile I write a little prose, poetry or a scene from a growing story. Even less often I share it here. This one hit me… Well, sorta. It simmered within me because a topic needed release from within my very soul. Within the depths of me. You know?




Path to Destiny
By Petula Wright

My fingertips grazed the sweet sheen of a cloud, it trickled pass tickling, soothing, nurturing, flowing and feeling… Pulling me forward, giving me hope, strength, love.

Abruptly, from the edges a being caught my senses… forced my attention to waiver. When my gaze returned – it was gone. A mist. Fog-like tendrils dripping, sifting, seeping away.

My outstretched hand met dewy nothingness, tears brimmed my lids. It’s lost. A gasp escaped my lips. My brain reached for it, eyes closed searching to recapture the moment.

Instead brisk, brick-like icy wind – one gust – crushed into and through me. Leaving me breathless. A wall, rejected.

Images wove through my mind.  My lids flickered observing as in a dream. The hope, the strength, the love simmered… like steamy cooked asphalt under a Southern summer sun.

No return. Only a shadow, miles in the distance leaving a simple echo of existence. Head hung. Do I wait? Shoulders slumped. Do I want?

Zero time to wait, wanting needs attention from the sweet satiny, sheen of a gauzy cloud caressing not just my fingertips, but my entire form. Flowing across my face, kissing over my lips, caressing my cheeks, my shoulder, my neck… easing over the roundness of my breasts, encompassing my waist – slowly to massage my back, cuddle my bottom, around my thighs, under my knees, effortlessly … longingly … gently and lovingly embracing my calves and tickling my toes.

All of me. Fingertips to toes. The real strength, hope and love pulling me forward and upward… flowing through me and around, keeping me grounded. Inhaling the sweet scent of it.


© May 2013

DSCF5888Surely you must let me know what you think in the comments. It would be awful to not speak and let me know you read. Liked or not liked. Hopefully liked. When writers express themselves through books, stories, poetry and even blog posts we wait for response. Well, some of us do. For me it’s like I hear the silence of nothingness within the empty columns.

Well, that’s the mind of a creative for you.

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