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That night she dreamt of horses in a field on a high plain where the spring rains had brought up the grass and the wildflowers out of the ground and the flowers ran all blue and yellow far as the eye could see and in the dream she was among the horses running and in the dream she herself could run with the horses and they coursed the young mares and fillies over the plain where their rich bay and their rich chestnut colors shone in the sun and the young colts ran with their dams and trampled down the flowers in a haze of pollen that hung in the sun like powdered gold and they ran she and the horses out along the high mesas where the ground resounded under their running hooves and they flowed and changed and ran and their manes and tails blew like spume and there was nothing else at all in that high world and they moved all of them in a resonance that was like a music among them and they were none of them afraid neither girl nor horse nor colt nor mare and they ran in that resonance which is the world itself and which cannot be spoken but only praised
Eva Evans July 19, 1994 - April 20, 2024
Eva Evans July 19, 1994 - April 20, 2024
Apr 22, 2024
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⭐you know,
all i like to write about is love.
writing is easier when it’s about your own personal experiences of grief, of pain
but love is the beautiful dove of the two
released at a funeral, released at a wedding.
,
because the definition is different for everybody.
—
the trees rustle again tonight, and the wind gently taps on the windowpane, begging again to be let in and my thoughts race farther and faster in the night than a pure-bred, hot-blooded racehorse, bucking wild for the first time my mind buzzes, stricken like a gong, reverberating in the quietness of tonight as i drag myself closer to you, you reach out for me, an unspoken, gentle and devout prayer, asking for me in the unspeakable words conveyed in a whisper through actions – i promised you a fantastical world of your own, where you are safe, through my own creation. i have created for you in the heart of my own somewhere for me to love you, fully and infinitely with all of myself. if this is not where you are safe, then there is nothing else. – word by word and sentence by sentence i create dreams i would never tell anybody not even under the skies of a cloudless night. when i sleep, i tuck my hopes and sadness under my pillow and hope a fairy will kidnap it and place in that spot something i should need more. but night after night, my dreams just macerate in the container of my heart. soon, i will drink them like an elixir of truth and what i am afraid of will come
—
the trees rustle again tonight, and the wind gently taps on the windowpane, begging again to be let in and my thoughts race farther and faster in the night than a pure-bred, hot-blooded racehorse, bucking wild for the first time my mind buzzes, stricken like a gong, reverberating in the quietness of tonight as i drag myself closer to you, you reach out for me, an unspoken, gentle and devout prayer, asking for me in the unspeakable words conveyed in a whisper through actions – i promised you a fantastical world of your own, where you are safe, through my own creation. i have created for you in the heart of my own somewhere for me to love you, fully and infinitely with all of myself. if this is not where you are safe, then there is nothing else. – word by word and sentence by sentence i create dreams i would never tell anybody not even under the skies of a cloudless night. when i sleep, i tuck my hopes and sadness under my pillow and hope a fairy will kidnap it and place in that spot something i should need more. but night after night, my dreams just macerate in the container of my heart. soon, i will drink them like an elixir of truth and what i am afraid of will come
May 2, 2025
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🌱my Stance rely on Grass. perfect posture molt by the Ground. the Sun squeeze Me until I condensate and evaporate upon Myself. the Sky hooks my compulsion to release My hazy stare on It. I bend Myself to find My feet. and between My hooves I see the only Black atop the Green and surround by Sky. I understand I need to know This. I rise and Shamble through memories of the Grass. the Color changes as I explore but the wind blinks Its change sometimes to often. and when It does that I forget the first image, if I saw It again Id never learn. but One Thing stay real, the Black. but now, Its Brown below, and shaped closer to recognition. and after the repetitive process of gullible reconnaissance the Weather changes Its final time, It is clear. and when I look up, It is there. A clean Fawn-Crow. the Utter Reflection, of what is Mother. of What is calamity that is of Me. It Stands like I do, just as It rose and Stumbled along to Me, as I Stand and watch Its voyage closer to memory. and now I know what it all was for. but still, I want to Walk like that again. so I lay, and dream in the Light of the Sky, as Clouds perform.
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The Wind is ghosting around the house tonight
and as I lean against the door of sleep
I begin to think about the first person to dream,
how quiet he must have seemed the next morning
as the others stood around the fire
draped in the skins of animals
talking to each other only in vowels,
for this was long before the invention of consonants.
He might have gone off by himself to sit
on a rock and look into the mist of a lake
as he tried to tell himself what had happened,
how he had gone somewhere without going,
how he had put his arms around the neck
of a beast that the others could touch
only after they had killed it with stones,
how he felt its breath on his bare neck.
Then again, the first dream could have come
to a woman, though she would behave,
I suppose, much the same way,
moving off by herself to be alone near water,
except that the curve of her young shoulders
and the tilt of her downcast head
would make her appear to be terribly alone,
and if you were there to notice this,
you might have gone down as the first person
to ever fall in love with the sadness of another.
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🚬bacteria/microbes had not yet evolved to decompose trees (bark fiber lignin)
so for a period of 60m years, dead trees/wood just piled up on the ground
what a cool time
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🚬they just like arthritically stand there and wag their tails and stare at you adoringly thru beautiful cloudy blue eyes???
they are to be cherished
🥺🥲