The Tower

There hasn’t been much of me here of late. My wandering feet have taken me off once more to pastures new and now stand hot and dusty on the hard clay earth of my new home in Eastern Spain.
Change has come with a crashing of thunder and a shaking of life’s foundations. For those familiar with Tarot, The Tower sums recent times up perfectly, ferocious and terrifying but generously giving chance to clear old rubble and build anew.
The kindly folk have been so very quiet and at times I wonder if they will ever speak to me again, for I have gone so far, far away. I have a slip shadow of an inkling that they will once again find me, so, I strain my ears to the breeze and the whispering pines.

At present, life is lived with only felt and canvas separating me from the stars and raindrops. 
Night passes reading quietly by candlelight and longing for a swift, shadowy movement glimpsed briefly from the corner of my eye.

 Daylight brings with it wheelbarrows of stones, an emerging veggie patch and shade sought from the fiery glare overhead.
It’s a strange feeling to have reached a dream and to realise the, at times, overwhelming responsibility of it’s reality. I understand the folk who shy away from reaching for it and those who bolt just as it’s in sight. For with it comes many hard lessons, questioning and soul searching and the dawning realization, that the dream, is not the end of the journey as one thought, but the very beginning. The tangible sense of creating a reality is at once frightening and exciting.
During the bright hours Mathilda lurks deep within her case and the dark silence of Eduardo my quiet, bookish faun is deafening! 
 Speak Dear Ones for I am listening…