In a wooden ship canvas sails billowed with gust full wind, making the gigantic masts tremor. Reaching through cyan blue sky into green sea, a mermaids breath was chiseled in wood, steering the helm as it blazed the trail in heavens ocean.  

On the far horizon lay the distant rock, wrapping the new world around the curve of a globe.

Growing up, his peers honed their battle skills as young ‘thoughts’, a scion in aion looked upon the barbaric tribes exploits as those of children playing games.  

‘I think therefore I am’  

In faith and belief of limitless dreams,
over years he had walked aboriginal
pathroads meeting medicine tribal ones.
Through the journey and changes, initiations and prayers, time and events, he grew older and stronger, his dark skin adopting the faces of people whose worlds were embraced, mirroring reflections beyond recognition.
Patient and strong, through successive lives, deaths and rebirths.
He was one cowboy with an indian soul.  

A man of coloured earth, playing his drum, chanting and singing stories.  

She sat mesmerised, singing along, playing with his colourful glass beads and the feathers attached to his long hair and patched leather waistcoat. She couldn’t imagine life without music, colour and stories he shared.  

It was raining and he didn’t appear.
She gazed through the lead barred window into the rain drops with sadness. She really didn’t want him to leave without saying goodbye.  

Sitting waiting, singing a tune that reminded her of him, he didn’t come. So she danced and played alone until she could no more, hating the boredom of the home in which she was raised and the emptiness it made her feel. To not be ‘awake’ was like being dead for a vibrant young child.  

Falling,
asleep,
to vividly dream …

As a baby she was aware
a dream she lived within.