Autumn dons a mask, regales the changing season, ignores Winter’s threat – and I too, dance, brightly clad, deny the nearness of death.
Forged in a crucible of fire my essence is flame – I smoulder in silence burn in indignation ignite with passion – stir these embers
Subtlety unknown, Spring’s repertoire bold and bright – soul responds in kind.
Body falters, mind the same, but spirit dances, lithe as a flame.
Elaborate, the tree forts imagination envisions Indifferent, the rationale that overpowers inspiration I balk, abandon hope, build a wall instead, forgetting… Creativity is not linear,
Is this inherent restlessness, a fiery blue spark of eternal angst igniting passion – a call to write? (Image from personal collection)