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” I’ve watched you, a changeling, humming softly in a dream, while stretching out a naked leg to the sparkle of a stream, And when you see the full moon across the cold blaze of a lake, your years seem only moments, sweet moments long years take.” Mihae Eminescu.

When I am lost, words become water and find their way through the undergrowth like a long forgotten stream. A secret pathway gliding over rocks and through tangled roots. Under and over and through beckoning, follow me, follow me. Sometimes the water speaks another language, wild water speaking in tongues, licking the dry stones and bringing them to life. All I have to do is listen, get close and listen and after a while, I have some understanding and the stream is inside my head,whispering to me. This magical language of lines,curves,dashes and dots, carves out a map in fallen wood and with eyes closed, I touch the patterns, follow the way. Signposts in books pointing the way, others have been here before. Words fall from pages, tumble from sieves, ingredients falling into the bowl blending with air and water and soon….alchemy…magical words changing and reforming, twisting and turning and taking me home. Dezba 12.12.12

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