Dream Stone #1

The small child in her smocked dress is still riding

in the yellow plymouth over the narrow bridge

that will arc forever over the invisible river

into the terrible gasp of open sky.

For the month of April I am following Jennie Page (Inkseeds) as she prompts us to dream and to write and to find our poems in the substance of myth and dreams. Today we were invited to write from the first dream we could remember. And so…

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About wrensong

I am a poet who collects stones. I am a wanderer of creek beds and forests, canyons and high desert who, coming home, sometimes finds words to tell the story. I am a companion with others in the search for Deep, Wild Soul. I shape containers in time and space for others to come together to write, to tell their stories, to hold each other in the telling. I am a grandmother and the companion of a cat named Alaya. I often travel out into open country with a man who calls himself Dunewalker who has hung his hammock in my heart.
This entry was posted in A River of Stones, aros, Dream stone, dreams, Poetry, Small Stones, The River, Writing. Bookmark the permalink.

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