I sit in a dark room, alone with my thoughts, contemplating life, its meaning, my meaning. Slowly, I inhale life-giving air, my chest swelling to capacity, energy rushing through my veins, I exhale.
I’m calm, and I feel my heart beating rhythmically, purposefully, to its destined end. The sound of my pulse, inaudible, travels out in unseen waves, crashing gently into the confines of this cocoon I inhabit, casting back reverberations that softly caress my skin like butterflies’ velvet wings.
There is peace here, a friend to my soul, a mentor to my nature; like a sponge, I soak it in, eager and thirsty for its nurturing gift. Will the heat of the day dry up this precious salve, or will I seek the shady and moist pastures of hope and comfort?
My nature guides me there, like a dove’s feather drifting in the wind; if only I can avoid the torrent of the day-to-day. With eyes closed, I envision this path, heart open to truth, mind open to the cosmos, I pray.
by David Winfield
WINFIELD WORD WEAVING 
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