Carl Sandburg wrote those words. Sandburg as a poet wasn’t studied overmuch when I was at uni doing my literature Master’s, but I had read some of his things in an independent study.Continue reading POETRY IS AN ECHO, ASKING A SHADOW TO DANCE
There is a magical time, every year, when worlds collide, from all different planes of existence. Reality is such a distorted thing, but sometimes a vision so clear comes about, that with enough thinkers, believers, dreamers, something forms.. It starts as a small grain, and quickly mudslides into something substantial. It is reality enough, though some would debate on that, when these realms are born in true manifestation.
Some don’t think much on it, and visit and behold these wonders. They don’t feel like they are stepping into someone’s head, or see that one place really has elements of places gone and past.
There are those that weep, for these new lands, they come from a familiar place, even though the magic only brings it for a short while.
For some it brings hope, hope of another day, week, month.
Others get to run again, stretch legs that actually function, have long flowing hair that waves in the wind and is the colour of cotton candy. A few sprout wings and fly for the first time, while friends take to the seas, flipping their fins. Some become something else, something not human, but that is okay, because all are welcome.
When the magic is alight, and the mists finally part, everything is finally possible, even if for a short time.