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witchscauldroninterrupted dreams last night - broken in half. First half was nonsense. Second half may be nonsense still.
The snow has receded, leaving bare pavement on a street in its wake. I keep finding huge polished ovals of sodalite and lapis lazuli on the sidewalk, along with some very long finger crystals. I walk into the front of a store - some sort of pagan place, all wood like a cabin. I walk right out the back, tho, having left the crystals on the counter. I step out the door onto a little porch, and then fly away.
I am raven now. The air is crisp, but warm, and the land is greening, rust and brown against pale growth. I watch as one person sees me, and starts to fly, despite their lack of wings. They fall to the ground again when they remember they aren't a bird...limited by their own fears, I suppose. I laugh, er...croak and caw, really, and then fly on.
The forest is familiar. Pearl-grey air is translucent and water slides off sleek feathers. Dive through the mist to the shadows.
The smell of loam and moss is pungent, sliding over old stones like ghosts. Silvered wings fold as I land...and pain. I cry out.
I sit, surrounded by Hawthorn. Hawthorne has pierced my foot, and I bleed. Garnet blood runs down the branches, and where it touches ground it bursts into flame. The flame burns argent, copper...touched with blue. Flame rises...flame surrounds. Raven becomes phoenix, briefly. Then Raven is black once more, but flame slides off each feather, iridescent.
I rise, talon wrapped around thorn. Cleansed. I awake.
For all of that, I didn't sleep well. Restless.
-M.
The snow has receded, leaving bare pavement on a street in its wake. I keep finding huge polished ovals of sodalite and lapis lazuli on the sidewalk, along with some very long finger crystals. I walk into the front of a store - some sort of pagan place, all wood like a cabin. I walk right out the back, tho, having left the crystals on the counter. I step out the door onto a little porch, and then fly away.
I am raven now. The air is crisp, but warm, and the land is greening, rust and brown against pale growth. I watch as one person sees me, and starts to fly, despite their lack of wings. They fall to the ground again when they remember they aren't a bird...limited by their own fears, I suppose. I laugh, er...croak and caw, really, and then fly on.
The forest is familiar. Pearl-grey air is translucent and water slides off sleek feathers. Dive through the mist to the shadows.
The smell of loam and moss is pungent, sliding over old stones like ghosts. Silvered wings fold as I land...and pain. I cry out.
I sit, surrounded by Hawthorn. Hawthorne has pierced my foot, and I bleed. Garnet blood runs down the branches, and where it touches ground it bursts into flame. The flame burns argent, copper...touched with blue. Flame rises...flame surrounds. Raven becomes phoenix, briefly. Then Raven is black once more, but flame slides off each feather, iridescent.
I rise, talon wrapped around thorn. Cleansed. I awake.
For all of that, I didn't sleep well. Restless.
-M.
