Summary: Sometimes what you think a thing is...isn't.
Feedback: Welcomed and appreciated.
Notes: It took me a couple of weeks to get this one written;
the muse beat me repeatedly over the head with sharp imagery
until I agreed to put it all down on paper.
Disclaimer: SW:TPM's characters are George Lucas', and very
emphatically not mine.
In distant memory, one dewdrop morn
we two strolled silent through the Gardens green;
it was the spring, and all the world reborn,
and full of wondrous things, seen and unseen;
bird-call was on the wing, and not a cloud
dared mar the matchless sky. There was a spot
just downward of the beds, where stood a grove
of light-limbed trees, appearing long-forgot
by any mortal mind. Here strong vines wove
their way among the ancient, weathered stones,
to fall in graceful clusters o'er the pool.
The fountain sang of secrets and unknowns,
although her waters looked but pure and cool
and guileless, like new rain caught in a cup
of leaves. You laid your hand upon the side,
and beckoned me to gaze within, and up,
compare the rippling mirror's gentle glide
to all the undisturbed expanse above.
"Look close," you spoke--moss-velvet your voice wore-
"Young one, there is in everything a love
of balance, though they may not know it, nor
may those who look upon them; even so,
a closer look may yield a different sight."
This said, you turned to rest upon the low
and sun-brushed grass. I still stood by the white,
round rim, and watched the images as they
slid through the pull and twist of liquid flow,
and wondered at your words. To my dismay,
I saw no special sign of them below,
but merely branches tangled, spun, beyond
their normal lines. If only they could have
stayed calm, I might perceive their shape, respond
to your instruction! Every bobbing wave
perturbed the likeness; every puffing breeze
set it aswirl; what could be even seen?
A dancing drift of petals from the trees
fell softly on the water's glassy sheen,
and further hid the picture. Bending near,
I reached a hand to sweep the blooms aside
....then caught a glimpse of something on the clear
bright surface: perfect circles spreading wide
from every point where splashing drops merged back
into the pool. And further: every place
the patterns met, they left a lattice-track,
like intricately-woven bands of lace;
and those tossed petals lit the waters with
their colors of a sunset or a dream,
and shimmered like lost jewels out of myth,
discovered once again beside a stream
of sparkling crystal spray by one young man,
beside his Master on a mild spring day.
I left the fountain undisturbed; the span
of one drawn breath had been enough to play
these notes of harmony across my mind:
The universe conforms herself to no
one's standards but her own; if we stay blind,
then it is only we who never know.
I glanced at you, and your warm eyes espied,
and, smiling both, a moment we stood there;
then we resumed our journey, side by side.
These days, these thunderous days, I do not dare
to voice my cherished memories aloud,
nor even to myself. But they, some nights,
disturb the placid surface of my mind,
with colors of a sunset's dreams and flights;
then all my world is once more realigned.
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