Melancholy Drift

I sit in the muted light of my melancholy.

It is the space beneath a weeping willow,

Rooted in

A cave of leaves probed carefully by the sun,

Enclosed, safe, lightly penetrated by light.

It is the lavender hue that creeps up

At the end of a summer day,

That hints of night's late arrival:

Scented

And soft, like cashmere.

It is bird song before sunrise

Behind curtains,

Lying foetally, fatally.

I cannot stay here long nor forever.

To languish is to lessen,

Energy leeching as I dwell in my thoughts,

Musing trying to anchor me to its depth

With its promise of stillness,

Of quiet contemplation.

I choose not to wallow here.

I could...

I dip into its cool pool

And it encompasses me,

Surrounding me with introspection.

I float, drifting, without direction.

It cannot last, I will not let it.

I need to be planted

And my feet seek the firmness

Of groundedness and

Landed reality calls me in

And I emerge,

Ready.

***

A link to Gabriel's challenge: