• Pam Newton

Swirls

Sometimes I get lost in the fog at the edge of the wetlands.  I can’t drag myself back into the day world but stay to meander in the reeds.  It is as if the other side of reality has more substance than the humming along of  modern life.


I feel myself turning upside down in the river, eating weeds and minnows from this abundant source of life.  A mermaid, a swan, a heron with huge feet, I revel in the shape-change. Fears of cold or drowning disappear, and I visit  a watery underworld of play.  I shimmer with scales, fins, gills, wings of gossamer.  This confluence of lusty, raucous chatter and places to hide in the broken branches becomes my own imaginal neighborhood.  I meander, hop, and fly.  I cavort with the squirrels and hoot with an owl’s stare.


Yet, I shift back inside to the warmth of my fluffy blanket and big cozy chair with delight.  So far, I never wake up with soft fur or scales on my human body.  Yes, we all live in many worlds, but a day world of working electricity and refrigeration suits my shivering core. A rush of awareness fills me with gratitude both for the fog and the bright, streaming sun.


Pamela Newton

February 26, 2019

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