Painting Studio Quiet In The Night On And In The Night On…

They said some were silent.  They said some were loud.  The voices could not hear inside their own heads for the quiet was so profound.  A fog took some to sleep in dreams and woke them in sacred memories.  A time between and twixt   the rail on the road. 

I could hear the trains and smell the stations.  Cold hot steel wheels bending around and back again.  Oil and electricity, a scent of fear, a scent of hope, a scent of home, a yearning.  A pause.  The hat and overcoat drawn taught in Chicago winds, wound down Lake Shore Drive and up town.  Down and back to Oak Park, to Barrington, to the Ranch.  To Wizard swamp, a magical place for sure and Merlin’s river.  A small stream but with a magical quality.

They said some were silent.  Liberty left the station hand bag in her hand, red bandanna waving in the smoke and steam.  Dragon woke, rolled a tight one and went into the dream. 

Are you ok?  

I think so.  How are you?

Better now that I am with you.

Do you remember?

No darling.  Let us just forget

Wine? 

Yes please.

Are you ok?

Thank you for the wine my dear

and your time. 

As ever be well