The road twisted along the coast, back and forth with the restless waves. The waves and me, we were the only ones moving at that time of day. Even the wind slept, hot and feverish, but completely still, as if time didn’t exist. I kicked up tiny pufts of dust, which hung in my trail like ghosts, and eventually dissipated. Crunchy gravel, uneven steps, I trudged through the atmosphere, thick with thunderstorm promise. The horizon never got any closer. Agitated. Breathless. Someone replaced the air with heat. Only another eternity before I return home. Only one more task to accomplish.
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You, who read these words at this exact moment, are an impression of the universe. When you tell yourself you’re not good enough, you tell the universe it is incompetent. Why not love your tiny piece of the universe so completely it glows with inner light. As this you-shaped section of the universe explores its part of a whole complex, changing universe, eons of atoms rearrange themselves to make cells work, to make you work. The empty space we think exists between nucleus and electron, further in ratio than planets, puts us in the center of a scale of infinities.
She swam through the deepest blue; down toward the depths her mortal body could never reach, with only her bubbles to indicate the directions. She left gravity at the surface, and breathed slowly, the way meditations taught, in order to preserve her most precious resource: the bubbles. She searched for existence the way a lover searched for their loved one in the darkness of sleep. The life-giving water held no life she saw. The longer she searched in vain, the deeper the existential dread set in. But, then, a flash of reflected sunlight, a shadow from the blue, she saw.
One does not simply wander into the snow-filled forest without wonder in their hearts and smiles in their eyes. One does not simply gaze upon the glimmering flakes without sparkles dancing through their mind. The snow reflects the sky, blue as a daydream. My sweater hugs the warmth close. I am grateful this day for the minerals falling from the sky, the crystals that hold wishes while the earth slumbers through the winter. Soon enough they will melt, and we will move freely, unencumbered by several seasons of sweater hugs. But for now, let’s dance with the grace of layers.
Let’s spend a moment with all we have planted and nurtured through the year. Let’s go inside and weed what we want to remove, and put some other seed there to take its place. Cover it with rich soil. Let it sleep in the cold, safe ground until the spring comes along to wake it up.
Memories of speaking without words due to language differences, to macadamia nut farms, and planting sunflowers with children dance with my sadness as friends passed this year into the next world. And here’s to the beautiful voices that sang justice for all this year. Blue shadows and soft crystals met the owl as he peeked from beneath the snow. Dreamers were coming. He had to be ready. Nobody noticed him, but he had to be ready. The dreamers needed to be let in, and he was the gatekeeper. If only he could get all the way to the surface, he could get to the gate, and the dreamers could begin their journey through the dream lands. He shifted this way, and wiggled that way. They got closer. A blob of snow fell from a branch above and buried our owl. The dreamers walked on.
“Stop daydreaming, angel,” demanded t-rex. “We have a real problem here.”
“I was thinking of a solution,” angel defended. “How about you stop demanding?” “Let’s be friends,” said bunny, always the peacekeeper. “Rar, rar,” said the osk. They all looked at toad, who lumped by slowly. Angel whistled nonchalantly, nothing to see here. “We need to throw toad a surprise birthday party,” said t-rex, with amphibian out of earshot. “But he’s always around. How will we convince him to leave while we set up?” “Take him swimming,” suggested bunny. “Good idea,” said t-rex. “Not it.” “Rar, rar” volunteered the osk. Until the next batch of tourists ambles through, my feet will be the last that touch this mound, built by hands that returned to earth many solar cycles ago. Whose hands made this, I asked the memory of the place. Only the wind answered, whooooo, through the leaves. Who, indeed.
The leaves crunched, brittle now, but the friends remembered the green vitality that yawned in soggy spring then grew strong through summer heat. The bold green buzzed with sunshine, sweet and sappy, but the shortening days kept change coming. The life-filled green pigment faded, replaced by a final blowout vibrant fire dance of red, orange, yellow. In the end, pale brown replaced all others while the leaves prepared to sleep forever, or at least until their nutrients gave life to another. The tree slept for a season, and the friends wondered if they themselves were the leaves of the world.
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StretchesThe brain needs to stretch before working out just as much as the body. Welcome to my stretch zone of stories in 100 words, and perhaps other bits. Archives
September 2019
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