Memories float in and out
Are they real or imaginary? It’s often hard to tell.
My earliest memories are enveloped in mist.
I see a small blonde curly head
Running in slow motion through the garden.
A tabby cat is leaping through the foliage
To escape her grasp.
Cows in the barn, Dad on the milking stool.
All of these memories from a life I never really knew.
Not a life I grew up in.
Living in the past holds little interest for me.
I rarely dwell in my memories,
Rather, I spend my days,
Defining the nuances of light and shadow.
Exploring objects, thoughts, and emotions,
From my imagination or here in this space and time.
How can I translate this into an image on the page before me?
What is the instrument of choice today?
What story can I tell and who do I want to tell it to?
The magic comes in the process of the unfoldingBy Cheryl McDonald, 2023©
Words and pictures brought together.
Reality created from a dream or a vision,
I am in awe of what emerges,
Every… single… time.
If you would like to listen to me read this poem, click below. Thank you!