(posted only here-Part 2): Quiet encapsulation of mother nature lies just over the edge…the gnarled echoes of days gone by faded into memory. Alive in time are festooned gardens with petulant pansies, longing to be kissed, sweet ruby red roses bidding tender fingers to come hither and feel the urgent stabbing prick of her thorns. Fertile ivy and her root-lings, twirl into concoctions of devious report, and heather laced grounds proudly display themselves with gem laced with moss. Idyllic repose of nature, moved only gently by the worn paths which curve in and out ~ to and fro. The indicator of man.
From beneath the deep azure blue of the oceanic realm, great Poseidon rumbles. The rock fortress holds. Mighty brine sheaths of water crash violently against them, but they are not moved. The ancient god curses the earth upon which man has made their home. He listens as far away songs waft about the mountaintops, valleys and glens. He lurches himself into the waves and peeks above the cliffs.
Encrusted ivory cottages of sea faring souls, adorned with netting, shells and ancient sea born relics ~ dot the nearby shores…(“come closer” he whispers.). A pause in a man’s step, a hesitation in a woman’s chore ~ a yearning by a child to dive into the abyss, for this Poseidon yearns. He moves back with the tide, unrequited, for there in the idyllic labyrinth of man, they are tethered. Their hearts are chained to the sun drenched gardens, to the wispy white clouds which waltz above the heavens, and to the dark soil of earth upon which they birth and care for all their young.
Ever deep into sea does Poseidon go…knowing, that tethered they may be…the tether is tender. It is fragile. It is not without end. The sailing men will hear his call. It will linger about the pathways of their soul. They will taste the sea salt in their bread, they will yearn for stronger winds. They will ache for the surging ripples beneath their feet. (“They will come…they will come.”)