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?
It was an illusion
Nothing was left behind but the past
In fact she needed nothing more to step into the future
Except the belief that there was one.
Climate Changed her.
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
It’s made of stone, solid.
Something the heart desires, at least for some time.
Of course, nothing is certain, it never is.
I am a wild creature, she breathed through every pore. Do you know how to fly, Inquired the endless sky? Of course I do, she replied, not making a move. Then where are your wings, demanded the coarse wood beneath her arse. I don’t need them today, was all that she said. So you’re stuck, laughed the branches prodding her gently. The wind was listless. No rain tried to fall. But the shadows had an interesting perspective. They took the form of whatever they lay on and when the sun turned, left no trace at all.
Today I climb a mountain on this remote Greek Island. Beyond the source of the waterfalls, lizards cling to the cliff faces. I test each hand hold before I give my weight to the mountain. The hard volcanic rock has been broken into sharp and unstable shards by the winter elements. Only the lichen-covered rocks are stable. I pick my path. The sky is racing past. A rush of adrenalin hits me. I consider the possibility that I could die here. Why not? It’s a beautiful place where I am completely at peace.
I see a species of ants that I know well from the Australian bush. We have history. Once I saw them carry away bones from a snake carcass. I’ve stood barefoot on their mounds for a dare. They don’t sting but their meat-eating preference makes this a good test of endurance. Sure, it’s crazy, but I had time and it was the days before I carried a laptop and had 305 Facebook friends. Today I feel only completeness. This is not an Italian drama. Perhaps it’s a Greek tragedy? Except there is no family gathering at my feet. I’m grateful. They need a wash.