Category: Uncategorized (Page 13 of 24)
Ladybug Harmless harbourer of luck, you dot the meadows, parks, and dust filled corners with your vibrant reds, orange, and yellows. You land on our shoulders and we yell out ‘Lady Luck!’ – our burdens fewer, a tide turning, and a love blooming from your age-old magic that nestles together in the dark months. Not quite a nuisance – who would squash the flaming flight of fate’s good word with a promise of pollen-rich buds come springs sleepy rise. Count the number of spots from this talisman of luck, and a new season may usher in a deepest wish in a few short months. By correlation or causation, felicity or fluke, your quiet creep in the marigolds and honeydew, or snug in the windows of our living rooms give us a glimpse of the mystical.
Museum Guides Almost artifacts themselves, so picturesque, so stoic, so cool as the marble-walled world that surrounds their life – day in, day out. Almost unnoticeable as they move so swiftly down the corridors, echoing melodies of tragedy, love, and grace – yet they remain temperature-controlled, buttoned and collared. when we step away from our books, our lessons, our ideas, and face the immortalized souls hung on the walls – gazing at each other in perpetual tranquility, we see them bound tirelessly to the age of their last breath – each brushstroke, carving, and touch of life bound within our commitment to animate them. Almost artifacts, those who live to guide and guard the eternal achievements of past hands – almost overlooked.
Suppose Suppose the limber, breathless bend of warmth on the wind never gave way to its grace sucked from its breath – life suddenly bound to torpor stillness and sterility. I suppose that the silence meddles your mind, and its meaning when the rush and rustle above vanquishes to the ground – stomped and blown. It forces a sound within, perhaps muted at first, but a growing menace all the same that you wish to ignore – more easy to do, you find, when the clatter of animation abuzz in the air with perpetual bounds and chirps. Suppose, now, you listen.
I grate, and grate, and grate, fingers seizing like having had written the sound of anticipation over and over and over again. All year, I stand nearby and watch the shards of cheese jump and writhe under the coarse metal, but today – today is my birthday, the meal of of all meals. The kitchen’s samba sways back and forth like feasting rituals long before me. Yet every year, I stand nearby with excited hands ready to let slip the mundane tastes and times of grating, melting, stirring, and baking.
reflections To love what you will never believe twice, to believe only the truly unbelievable, is to begin to understand the thousands of lives we’ve lived, if only to remember the closest one. To reach out in the darkness, clawing at the familiar ache of the daily pangs of grief, of affection, of regret, to take great pains in holding that swindling joker, none other than Time itself, who jeers along. To pluck that proverbial day that makes the rest gleam and fade as it dulls the mind-numbing reality of looking back to the beginning of the end of your days. To do nothing so productively that you, the spectator, dictate the mirror of art, of style, of life.
The traveler Your face begins to smudge and smear unforgettably unrecognizable like the pages of a well-worn book I know I’ve drifted through before while dancing in the rosy lens that bends toward crowded cloud-like cobblestone. You begin to spiral out of view – never seen with eyes, but felt through visions of vibrant reminiscence of that flowering road now stretching awake with faint phantoms of my travels passed.
Your face begins to smudge and smear unforgettably unrecognizable like the pages of a well-worn book I know I’ve drifted through before while dancing in the rosy lens that bends toward crowded cloud-like cobblestones. You begin to spiral out of view – never seen with eyes but felt through visions of vibrant reminiscence of that flowering road now stretching awake with faint phantoms of my travels passed.
