• Celia Marion


When I was young, the clouds beckoned

with their illusive imaginary shapes.

There were towering castles and hidden lands

of giants with capes.

There were sweeping ships to ride

and friendly beasts to chase.

As great billowing pillows

offered places in which to hide,

my innocent child's mind created inner chambers

softly filled with color of a most opalescent kind,

where no-one's eyes ever cried.

Then, as young dreams dissolved

in the rain showers of time,

the colors muted and faded.

The magical clouds drifted from view,

carried by life's storms

to the mountain's far side.

Tears filled my inner child's eye.

But the mountain called

and the upward journey began.

Driven by dreams, challenged by reality,

I traversed many a steep trail,

rounded many a bend.

Finally, the wind at the peak

bid me look up again.

High, high, where there was no-one else to hail,

clouds billowed brilliantly in a deep blue sky,

not one too pale!

But now, there was no need to dream

of castles or kings,

or to ride imaginary ships,

or horses with wings.

As the breeze pushed the clouds

and caressed my face,

I watched the towering puffs

gently cross this space

into a new mind in this expansive sky,

where mountains and clouds heralded

a new view of life.


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