Dream on a desolate road

Hills shrouded in mist. A thin rain seeping inside the neck of my
coat. The chill dripping gradually down my spine as I contemplate the
thin strip of unmade road ahead; rutted with the passage of memories
long decayed, and strewn with the crumbling grey boulders of
unfulfilled desires. The day is drear and I cannot see beyond the
lowering clouds for more than a few hundred yards. There is only sparse
vegetation and what trees there are belong to another time; pale,
shrivelled and long past their true life span.

There is no sound other than the ceaseless whisper of the fine rain on
my hood. Even I make no sound. I glide in a landscape not of my
choosing and watch as the pallid ghosts of acquaintance flit along the
sodden ditches on either side. Here an old friend, there a lover. They
fade into insubstantiality while other, less friendly forms materialise
in their place? the fawning shape of an idiot councillor, the surly
grimace of a disliked colleague, and worse? my own face floating
tantalisingly at the edge of vision, tortured, unsmiling and blurred by
the pain in my heart.

I think I hear her! I catch a glimpse, but no? the clutching arms of
the hawthorn scratch my face and the illusion is gone. My heart resumes
its sullen beat, marking time with the pulse of the sopping world in
which I travel. Were it not for one precious jewel winking brightly
within my soul, my mind would also succumb to this morbid beat of
depression. But, I guard the undimmed brightness of my covert treasure
with every part of my sentient being. Its magic will work again. That
moment will come again. I simply have to be patient. I wait as I
walk.

There is a slight brightening to my left. A wraith of a child
fleetingly smiles and slides past me. I half catch the snatch of a
nursery song. Children have it right. They are what they are and see
the world as a playground. For them there is no self doubt or
inarticulateness. Yes, I am second-cousin to longing, but in an
emotional cul-de-sac where there will never be a consummation. I quell
the feeling, not for the first time, and resume my quest for
salvation.

The road starts to climb and I seem to tire, even though I am only a
spectator in this world. The hills close in, and their dank flanks make
me draw my coat ever closer. My mind starts to deceive me. It keeps
repeating phrases it heard at Magic Time. It creates a chimera in her
image, which dances in front of me, beckoning, teasing, trying to get
me to believe it is real. I can recognise illusion. It has no savour.
It is mere shadow, and a torment sometimes difficult to bear. I can
dismiss it, but it still has the power to hurt.

Time passes. Suddenly I see what I have been waiting for. The glow of a
new day silvering the horizon. It will not be too long now. Magic Time
is almost here. My heart starts to pump more insistently and a hollow
space forms beneath my ribs. The jewel starts to expand. I hear it
first as a distant bell, soft yet insistent. I reach out and the bell
is replaced by her voice. No need for introduction - "Hi. It's me" -
that is the only mantra that is needed.

The first rays of the sun shaft down through the dark clouds clinging
to the edge of the fells, and a single dappled patch rapidly expands to
purple the heather, green the meadows and deck the trees in fresh
leafage. Birds appear from out of the shadows, which now shrink and
absorb the phantoms of desolation. Where before there was darkness and
chill wretchedness, there is now a world of happiness, sweet smelling
and ready for occupation. How long have I got? Banish the thought.
Enjoy!

We talk of this and that. Mainly safe subjects, not daring to broach
the inner cache of emotions for fear of destruction. I disguise my
love, but revel in the sound of her voice. I sound inane even to
myself, but allow myself to go with the gentle flow of affection. It
will be over all too soon. I forget half of what I want to say, but
that does not matter? she speaks, she laughs, she seems to enjoy my
company. I rejoice in the warmth of her fond regard and we come
together in mind and spirit for this brief encounter.

Then, all too soon, that other world starts to intrude. I must keep it
at bay. Say something else! Please let me extend this moment for a
while longer! We have exhausted the secure and common work topics, yet
we cannot express our true feelings, for we are both frightened of the
consequences. I cannot go further until she permits me. I reach out.
She is too far away and the mood is changing. Grasping tendrils of
reality hook into my brain and start to strangle the moment. We
hesitate, fearing the inevitable?. and then it arrives? "Goodbye
then"?. "Goodbye. Speak to you soon."

The road to desolation has not changed. The gloom is still all
pervasive. The beauty of the fells is once more hidden by the sodden,
clinging mist of reality, but I still have my jewel; the memory of her
voice. It still glows warm, deep within me, and it will sustain me
until the next Magic Time.