Philippa Lane (March 7th,1941 / Chichester, West Sussex, England)

yes, my torment has gone
and, more remarkable
i seem unharmed
the machine of flesh and blood
still stands the demons cast off
as naturally as a winter's overcoat
in spring

suffering has gone
much as a boarder
comes to stay for a while
then leaves
the vacant room
speaks In echoes
holding the occasion

in its emptiness

strange
but this momentous time
feels quite ordinary

there is no dialogue
no musical score
no cast save me
and if I could express
my feeling visually
it would be
to see a woman
walking on a moor
her face sun-kissed
her expression calm -
wild grasses parting
under her bare feet
the bruised flatness
showing her presence
the air suffused
with the scent
of opening clover

Her shadow falls behind
but she does not turn
to court uncertainty
instead she hugs herself
wrapped warmly
In a shawl of safety
with no memory of pain
she treads the landscape
of exhilharation
radiantly

There is no script, no sponsor here
no commericial enterprise
the actor gleans no fees -
a documentary in fact