Believe

          I find my treasure in a choir of bells. I like to hear them, be warmed by their vibrancy. They are smug with the richness of belonging and leave me wondering: who will cherish me? Will I find someone who's heart answers to mine; sees the beauty in the colour of a butterfly's wing? 

        Maybe. 

        I will read my thoughts to the hills; gift myself to a rainbow's chorus line so I too can be dressed in the silks of happiness. 

          I will board a black obsidian steam train and travel back to Moscow, gaze at the onion domes of the cathedral, the Winter Palace, the wide frozen sea. I will wrap myself in sheepskins against the cold and know the warmth at my own heart. I will harvest memories from all the corners of the world and treasure them for as long as I can stand on my own two feett. Only then, in my rocking chair days, when I can light the incense and lift the lid on all the treasures of my heart will I know the fulness of life; a mushroom farm of freedom; light on fields of corn at sunset, swimming in a mineral lake; the echo of song in the canyon. I will suck pistachio ice cream from a spoon and drink saffron coloured tea. And I will know I have shared in the richness of belonging because I hold safe my own heart, my own memories, my own treasure. And I too will know the way to a small child's heart and I will whisper the secret of happiness into their ear;

        "Live on a narrow boat, paint daisies, write poetry, sing love songs, suck the juice from a watermelon and spit the pips into the wind; feel all of life, follow your heart. Above all listen to the voice of your own heart song and believe."

        "Believe?"

        "Believe."