Waiting for The Light

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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.

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Change

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Something happened. It was the inevitable grinding of the tectonic plates. The unfolding of a naked leaf into a perfect lotus pose. A bird song that cracked the silence. A kiss that vanished. A heart beat that stopped. There were words that never made it to the page and sighs unexpressed. There was the deepest indigo of my soul where the darkness of night was broken only by the silver crescent of the moon. Then sky so blue that I cried tears of joy. I held myself in the certainty that this moment would never last. Then I exhaled freedom.

Wonderland

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There’s no room for doubt, said the solid, stone house. Let’s reflect on that, stared the window pane. I’m no longer pristine, mumbled the wall at her feet. The lamp tilted her head then spoke in a tone that was somewhat lighter than the old, plastered sheet. You’re somewhere between, not ceiling or floor. It could be worse, groaned the stain on the door.

Elemental

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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.

Nothing is Black and White

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There was comfort in the shadows, an illusion of solidity under her feet. The trees hung back and let her contemplate the sensation of freedom. It was everything she wanted in that moment, black and white in clarity. But the air on her skin reminded her of touch. There was no doubt that she was connected on every level to the universe, but was that enough?

The River Knows

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The village is a walk through ferns, following a goat track. I heard the goat herder’s wild animal cries at sunrise and the passing sounds of bells, bleats and hoofs sure-footed on stone. But I have no desire to go to the village. Instead I go to the waterfall to wash the city from my body and remember the sweet caress of the sun.