Night Pictures Behind My Eyes
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Cocoon; I went to sleep for quite some time, what felt to me like years, had visions that I built a nest, to cover up my fears. I traveled off to distant lands, and looked for all things nice, flakes from a rhinos' horn, crumbs from some exotic spice, an eyelash from a zebra, some sap from rubber trees, broken wings from katydids, floating on a breeze, sputum from a silk worms' nest to sew it all together, and make a stand for what might come in any kind of weather, sphagnum from the Irish bog, I tucked in every leak, valor from a soldiers' cap, for the bravery that I'd seek, the fine fir from a newborn sheep to cushion my mainstay, and comfort a wearisome spell, at any time of day. I pulled it up around myself, so inside I might hide, in comfort I remained there, my body filled with pride. When I awoke I spread my wings, broke away from all my bounds, fled free from what I last had known and floated high above the ground, I soared above the mountain tops, found a branch upon the sea, then noticed in the water, a butterfly, a reflection that was me.
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About the Book
I am moved by dreams. Maybe you are too. Our dreams are an interplay of pictures and stories that blend within the confines of each of us. Those nighttime visions hold our feelings hostage, and then emotions enter when we cannot wish them away. Each of us has our own dream experience, and your story is almost as unique as mine. When my friend awoke his three-year-old son one morning, the boy sat up in bed and said, “Daddy, I had night pictures behind my eyes.” Wow! How perfectly he described his sleeping journey. I couldn’t help myself enough, although I did, by borrowing that wonderful quote as the title of my own book. Herein lies both a fictional base and some actual events from the one person’s dreams I know best, and you have yours too.
About the Author
I have been asked if I came up with the story line first or drew the illustration(s) first. The truth is that it happened both of those two ways, but I always thought back to books both written or illustrated by Wallace (Wally) Tripp. You might know his work from the drawings within the Amedila Bedilia series. He remains an inspiration for me. My children can still recite his poetic verse some thirty years since hearing them. My efforts in illustrating and writing go back to preschool. I always knew that it would be an exciting and challenging endeavor, which I am now finding so true, and that destiny, of writing, would become a reality of my own personal story. The towns people of the small western, Mass. town, where I grew up, knew me by my drawing ability. I was continually coaxed into some avenue at devoting my career choice in that direction. It never happened until now! I have tried so many building trade skills. As a novice carpenter, I built my own house; as a stone mason, improved the wishes of many clients’ masonry wants & needs; and, as a massage therapist, helped to heal the many who could not do it on their own. Each endeavor has moved me closer to working through my heart. My passion has moved from the back burner forward, to where I am the chef of this savory delight.