Bluejay stepped out into the new day and attached a pink plastic rose to the inside mirror of his Sundance camper van.

And the sun flashed a laser ray over his face and he was a painted warrior.

'I shall drive this van along four thousand trails' he said, 'in search of the pattern of music.'

So Bluejay drove for four thousand days along four thousand ways.

And there were many times across many lines.

There were stories and glories.

There was dark and dangerous mystery.

'Oh yes, there were faces and scars and songs and stars and yet no pattern of music' said Bluejay, as the light turned into indigo night. And the moon flashed a laser ray over his face and he was a painted phantom.

And all the while the pink plastic rose had remained attached to the mirror. Bluejay was exhausted. He tore down the flower.

'So hey' he said. 'and what are you

You rose which never dies

And what know you of joy and grief

Beneath these sacred skies?

You have no fragrance, have no thorns

You need not light nor rain

And do you dream your plastic dreams

Eternal life to gain?'

Bluejay stared at the rose. He heard a whisper through the nowhere silence in his head.

'I may be plastic, may be gold

I may be life or wonder

Some day within another time

I will be death and thunder

I run through questions, run through blood

I am both pure and tainted

There is no place of light or shade

My pattern is not painted.'

And Bluejay threw the pink plastic rose high high into the sky.

'Fly music,fly' he said.

He watched the rising sun flashing a laser ray onto the inside mirror of his Sundance camper van, and drove into the new day.

15.02.21 Front Page

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