Slipping into the Fog - Avalon

Drifting.

When I am in pain, I do that. Mist and fog are comforting to me. I need...crave...my space and a time and un-structuredness to heal. I need my sisters and the Old Ones.

New pastels and watercolours are coming. New beginnings in a project Arthur and I are going to do. There is so much hope here. My artwork is taking me out and back and into other areas now. So much in my heart that I want to put down on paper with ink and colors. Wrapping the paint and pages around me as a warm, old blanket. But here....here is where I hide...

Moving through the forests and the dry grass...carefully picking out the flat stones on the waters edge....barely discernible through the mist and dark, I have gone this way before...hundreds if not thousands of times. Weaving my song quietly, knowing the spell to unlock the gates when I come to them. The Watchers mark my coming and lift the veil of snow. I am going to the Isle, going where none can follow me unless they know...are one of us...and there are so very few of us left.

Fair Isle

Standing by the old trees

I see far out into the mist

looking to the West

over the water

Feeling the change

the breezes carrying a hint

of the old voices

fairer

lifting my spirit

lighting my way

ready to step out

on the path

lead me home

It's Time

In this time

I let the sand

slip

slowly gliding

through my fingers

blowing

the veil catchs

lifting in the sea breeze

floating out

cloud-like

into

the sunset ending

Memories of the Musee

Framed by the Golden Gate, the Musee is every bit as much a golden treaure as the arches greeting the bay.