Letter to Colleen from Somewhere

This place where geography ends, where rainbows rest.

Letter to Colleen from Somewhere

         for Colleen Morrissey

You can't get here from there, try as you might.
All roads that point this direction curve, dip and swerve.
Even blind flight's impossible when dials conspire and swirl.
You've heard of this place: Vortex of Storms. Here updrafts
birth brimstone, drain to depression, hail at its core.
It resides behind myths. No tunnel pierces this fog.
No bridge soars through its mist. It exists none-the-less:
a crossroad of stone and despair some folks have fled from
(and others call life). I write to you, young surveyor of maps,
old assayer of humans that always create them
and note: each life's an event that signifies something.
Yet nothing you've studied could prepare you for this.
This place where geography ends, where rainbows rest.

© Kåre Enga 2007 [164.journal#14] (original posted September 20, 2007 in "Letter to Colleen from Somewhere. The trip begins." )

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