Cheryl Godfrey Ross
Locally born, collects all her experiences, adventures and also stories from the many she meets from her travels around the globe. She uses the tranquillity and space of the Highlands to put together a mystically marvellous series of books, which she hopes to share with the world.
Covered under the veil, hidden a juxtaposition between two worlds you like to think, but not today, no, not today. Saw you, caught you, just then, there, your glare, your snipe; that spit of…of…what, so mercurial your mood swings, your disguises, but not today, Ben, no not today, as the moon wanes, as Scorpio’s power of deceit, of treachery, of treason subsides…oh, how I love the power of the sun, revealing the sneaky untrusted moonbeam shadows of poisoned quicksilver weaving the silkworm’s thread, round and round your lump of solid mound, but Ben, I see you now, know you; you are not solid, but fluid, full of emotions, just like me, Ben, today. This is of your making, and mine, your co-creator here, your interpreter, your seer, your confidente; yes, now I am a believer, now, if that is what you want of me, what you want from me; is that it, my Ben? Please, give me a clue.
‘The date, Katy, the date…’
Nine-eleven? Is that what you mean? Walls caving in, man-made bricks and mortar knocked down? Destinies recreated, ideologies betrayed, castigated. New alignments formed…just as the morphing begins here, as I stare at you, from a hill opposite, below you, yet somehow your equal, seeing through your eyes, your silvery, shining will steel-like behind the cloud of illusion, beyond the realm of deceit, mercury rising, heating up. Just you and me, Ben. Stuck here in no-man’s land between two Berlins hovering; is this the reality?