Saturday, May 5, 2007

phoenix feathers and ashes

I write for the 1st time on the edge of my reinvention. For 19 months I have faded, feathers fallen, and molting my old self in preperation of the new one. In 3 and 1/2 hours I will have a glimpse of what the new one looks like.

So the phoenix glimmers in the predawn of his own day. Sparks fall sullenly to the damp ground, unable to ignite. And yet...night is dying; unwillingly perhaps and the sun relentlessly hunts her down and sears her edges driving shadows to the edges and darkness into hiding.

But there it is. watching tiny grands of sand release my destiny. either way, and sand in held in the great unseen hand. Which ineffable mystery it is, still remains my only real internal flame.



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