The Calling

The Calling

By Marcus Usherwood

 

I walk slowly forward, softly breathing the frosty morning air.

The wall hangs over me like a wave about to crash.

The sunlight catches the crystal flecks in the brickwork.

Their reflexive light is growing, calling.

I reach out to touch the surface and my hand passes through the wall.

I pull it back, breath quickening in alarm and confusion.

I stare at the starry crystalline light again and the calling is stronger.

I steal myself, resolve, focus and move smoothly through the wall.

______

An instant of darkness; then verdant lush foliage, warm dappled sunlight, flowing singing water and . . . moans of anguish.

I turn to see the shackled shaggy beast lost in struggle to free itself.

I call gently and with thankful recognition the shackles are offered up.

One touch and the fetters fall free.

Love and possibility lift my heart.

We hug and I close my eyes breathing deeply. . .

The air is fresh again.

I open my eyes to the bright city sounds.

My day is calling.