BardBliss: Demeter/Persephone

Oh, those orchids...

Listening to:  A new music crush.

Today's Bliss Formula:  Low 70's for the high today.  Perfection in my book.  Speaking of books, a big reading and journal writing day.  And sitting outside.  Later tonight, a fire under the stars.

Demeter/Persephone

In the sepia tones of my dreamscape,
I emerged, yellow caped, from the giant evergreened
woods and walked carefully onto the frozen
lake. With purpose, knowing what I was to find,
knowing I would not fall through, I made my way
to myself, frozen and blue, gripping narcissus, mouth
spilling blood red pomegranate seeds under the ice
of this small lake in these big woods under this
brown cold sky. With pick ax, I began the long,
arduous job of releasing my corpse from its
mausoleum. Breath and ax on ice were the only
sounds in an otherwise silent movie. An old, wooden,
red-bladed sled with roped handle presented itself
at the moment it was needed, and I easily lifted my
stiff corpse and lay her on the aged, splintered
surface. I made my way back to the woods, occasionally
looking over my shoulder at my frozen body, expecting --
what? I did not shout to rise, to wake, to live, to breathe,
to be. I kept pulling and my feet crunched into newly
fallen snow, having covered the prints I had made on my way
out. I pulled toward those woods waiting in the distance
and I pulled my dead, frozen self into those wood, under
the canopy, but as in most dreams, I returned to the beginning
again and again, to the moment of discovery, to the moment
of the magically appearing pick ax, to the moment
filled with recognition and resignation, to the duty
of lifting and hauling.

--christine c. reed