INTO THE FIELDS AT DUSK

Neatly, I packed a suitcase with my complete anthology of masks.
The impressive (and heavy) collection is quite famous, and
can be seen around the world.

I, too, have often displayed the famed faces.

The body of work included things you may recognize:
the fearless one, the stoic one, the composed one, the strong one.

Ah, and don’t forget the most revered; the invulnerable one.

But composure’s life expectancy ran it’s course,
and life requested something fresh, original and edgy.

The soul of the world wanted what is true.

I left the suitcase behind,
stepping into another world, another life.

How light I walk without it.

Leaving the disguises,
I was drawn into the fields at dusk,
lit only by fireflies and distant cooking fires,
crackling with the rhythms of ancient dances.

I didn’t realize (or miss!) the weight missing from my arm.

I felt only the rapture of the evening breeze
and my now bared face, with nothing to obscure it,
could finally absorb the light of the milky way
when it curled around the horizon.