There’s a blue when I turn at the cliffs. Sweeping me up like a baby. Crashing, falling steeply into the arms of blue. This is the half-light of my dreams.
The sound of birdsong wakes me, followed by the rumble of waves. The boom, the rhythm, the roar. An ancient call.
I grab my blanket, an empty journal and two pens. Wrapped in the chair, the morning curves gently into sight. The scent of eucalypt somersaults in the crispy breeze.
The air is sweet. Sticky with salt and the promise of rain. I haven’t been this still for years. Staring into the cool softness of blue.
Far away from home. Far away from my young children. I left them for the first time since they were born. Just for a weekend. Just for a moment to myself. It strikes me how they take up my thoughts even at this distance.
They are not unlikeable. There is no resentment. But all I can feel is the clamor, the exhaustion and the responsibility. Heavy stones.
There comes a time to start digging. To search. I have almost forgotten who I am.
So I look into the blue. So still and so wise.
I am asking questions. Where do I go? What do I do?
Blue, old friend. I see you. I see your wildness. I see your delicate drops and your terrifying depths. I see your comfort and your catastrophe.
I have lost my way, but I can hear you.
Listen.
Wait.
And then it whispers, Dream.
Dream again.
Write deep and hard and true. Write terrifyingly and softly. Write until you feel the salty balm cloak you. Write until you feel rich blood flowing. Stretch your wingspan. You will fly.
Oh Blue!
One by one I take the stones out of my pocket.
I’m as light as sunshine. Streaming over the ocean. An arclight on the horizon.
I shake off of my blanket, stand up, and take in every last detail. The slope of green tumbling into the ocean. The jagged edge of headland. The mist spraying. The white horses rolling in.
I breathe in deeply and know.
I will return home. I will nurture their souls. But it is different now. Because now I remember. I remember the luminous blue. I remember the compass point of me.
I will dream again.
