The Journey Continues...Part 2-Illustrated...

Several months ago I posted a series of paintings that chronicle a Journey by a group of travellers through a fantasy landscape, as a metaphor for our journey through life..the paintings were done in very soft focus, with no prior drawing, and are quite small, measuring only 7×10 in….out of the original twenty three, only seven are left on my pages here….yesterday I added an eighth, as I intend to continue for as long as the travellers need to keep seeking their journey’s end…due to the favourable comments on the first part, I decided to add some of the rest of the journey today…..the narratives are mine and the poems from various sources.

This is part 2_….see part 1 HERE

It’s a gentle sun in muted yellows, that mingles with the soft emerald tones of the water and caresses the deep mauve blue of the hills….a good augury of the day that’s to come…if you are so lucky as to be up at this time, your day will surely be blessed….how could it not?

Ecstatic bird songs pound
the hollow vastness of the sky
with metallic clinkings—
beating color up into it
at a far edge,beating it, beating it
with rising, triumphant ardor,
stirring it into warmth,
quickening in it a spreading change,-
bursting wildly against it as
dividing the horizon, a heavy sun
lifts himself-is lifted—
bit by bit above the edge
of things,runs free at last
out into the open!lumbering
glorified in full release upward—
songs cease. W.C. Williams

We’ve come from a far land and the ghosts of the city appear on the horizon as we sail into shore….what matter? We’re here at last.

Night and day the river flows. If time is the mind of space, the River is the soul of the desert. Brave boatmen come,
they go, they die, the voyage flows on forever. We are all canyoneers. We are all passengers on this little mossy
ship, this delicate dory sailing round the sun that humans call the earth. Joy, shipmates, joy. E. Abbey

Sunset and a storm brewing….how nice it would be to reach the safe haven of home before it breaks….but let us stop a while and stare…what’s a little rain between us when so much has happened already.

The river sleeps beneath the sky,
And clasps the shadows to its breast;
The crescent moon shines dim on high;
And in the lately radiant west
The gold is fading into gray.
Now stills the lark his festive lay,
And mourns with me the dying day. P.L. Dunbar

The Journey seems never ending as night falls, but there’s good company ahead, food and rest…she’ll be there tonight watching patiently.

She stands.
Night deepens, merciless.
The lit farmhouse, the terrace
with its globe of light
are out of reach now. Like ships
becalmed on a sea of dark,
they are remote, inhuman. She dips
the torchbeam. Around her
the indigo stillness glooms.
Silence and the blue night. A. Greene

The breeze at dawn has secrets to tell you.
Don’t go back to sleep.
You must ask for what you really want.
Don’t go back to sleep.
People are going back and forth across the doorsill
where the two worlds touch.
The door is round and open.
Don’t go back to sleep. Rumi

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