Cat eyes hunting prey.
Clandestine footprints on untrodden soil.
But where were the mewlings?
Had they suffocated on the taste of fear?
Look deeper, said the tree, because trees always know.
Sink into the soil, sang the earth as it always did.
Wrap the tenderness of leaves around your heart, cried the oneness of nature.
And she did.
But where were the mewlings?
Breathe in, breathe out, said the tree.
They came, slowly at first,
Then dancing like wild beasts,
Silence torn between their teeth.
I’m drunk on possibilities. You know, one of those moments when you want to say I love you guys, to the ex who I truly loved, the friends who I love present tense and the people who I will love in the future. Life is so fucking conjugated. And yet so simple.
It’s an old post but the sentiments remain. I don’t post much these days as my life is generally offline and offgrid. I’m breathing in the air of constant change where creativity takes a million forms. As we breathe in and out together I wish for a deeply felt year.
Are we so different?
Does the river not cry as it stumbles and falls?
Is the flesh of rock not the same as mine only hardened by age?
Do your tears not join others and flow to the sea?
Your breathe, nourishment for another soul?
Your sweat damp like earth after rain?
Are we so different?
After all?
‘She’s got quite a spine,’ slammed the undisclosed door.
‘It’s solid, for sure,’ spoke the board of the floor.
‘Yes, the bones are evident,’ revealed the light from the street.
‘I can’t see a thing!’ shouted the shadow of feet.
The world held her well
Each hard-boned twig that pressed into her flesh
Reminded her that strength and fragility
Exist in the same moment
We crumble and fall
At every moment
And that is the beauty of change
Holding
Being held
Between two worlds we are
The sky in your eyes
The river in mine
We are held
Together
Yet apart
The eye of the beholder
A parallel universe
that completes the triangle
where image and words
are only a precarious structure
of narcissism at best
Time passes
Or does it rest
And we pass?
There are moments when everything is clear, crystal even. Then there is the waiting, the contemplation, the preparation for something that may erupt and cover everything with molten memories, the ashes of a life well-lived, cinders of unrequited love and the burning passion of future dreams.
Jeni McMillan 