Juniper and Lamp Light

What I dream I had.
Pressed in organdy.
Clothed in crinoline of smoky burgundy.
Softer than the rain.

I wandered empty streets
Down past the shop displays.
And I heard cathedral bells
Dripping in the alley ways.

It was around midnight when I sat upright without really meaning to. It was one of those impulsive gestures, clinging to the heels of an idea which insisted upon my immediate attention. It was only through chance that someone neglected to completely close the front door, and the sweet southwestern breeze just happened to nudge it open, carrying it’s delicious wet scent across the apartment, and into my room. My nose caught a glimpse of it, and like a cat who has been cooped up all winter long, it immediately made me wild inside. An expansion of pleasure and excitement begin stirring deep in my chest with the long forgotten option that had so suddenly landed at my feet. I immediately began assembling the propper items for what was to come next.

Scarf, check. Cloth hankerchief, check. Music, check. Belt, check. Cigarettes, check. Chewing gum, check. Wool socks, check. Rain cap, check.

I stood in front of the door fully dressed, and a bit too warm. I took in a deep breath of the stale apartment air as static hummed through my headphones; my finger trembling over the play button. I gripped the knob, threw open the door, and was immediately sucked outside by the hungry evening. Damp misty air consumed my face and snuck into my coat…a million ambiant sounds of the dripping world joined the static in my ears, which I soon changed to a single jazz saxiphone. The warm spring air hung with a thick and heavy fog, and the lazy notes carried me down my steps, across the lot, and into the street…there the saxiphone was accompanied by the sound of the wet tires of lonesome late night travelers and of my own boots, click-clocking down the road.

I began to lose myself in the utter pleasure of the situation, and before long found myself at the "closed for the season" gates of the waterfront. Beyond them, what would usually be a vast series of roads and sidewalks illuminated by hundreds of yellow city lights, was a vast icy plain of utter darkness…the looming monolith of the clock tower, beaming it’s moon-like white light far on the horizon was the only light to be seen in this particular section of the city. Closed. Empty. Inhospitable….completely mine.

Over the fence, through the tunnel, and across the snow drifts I flew…until I found myself on a narrow melted path pointing towards the city docks. The snow and ice had melted this path in the shape of a lightning bolt, and it pointed erratically towards the base of the clock tower. The light from it’s massive face illuminated the melted water in this path, and left the rest of the world dark and boarded up. I felt as though I had somehow stumbled into a children’s storybook painting, and strolled this jagged path with my arms at my sides and my fingertips outstretched and trembling amongst the exquisite foggy breeze.

Upon reaching the tower I suddenly felt a presence, and began looking in all directions. Images of phantoms approaching from several meters away, then vanishing into reality plagued me for a moment…and then I continued on. I walked for hours, until my legs felt like rubber. When I finally turned towards home it was still the last place I wanted to go. I never seem to grow weary, it seems, of searching for that presence in the fog.

And when you ran to me
Your cheeks flushed with the night
We walked down frosted fields
Of juniper and lamp light.
I held your hand.

And when I awoke
And felt you warm and near
I graced your moonlit hair
With my greatful tears.