“She chuckles to her self thinking of all the exploits outsmarting lusty pirates, sinking armadas, rescuing seals and lost mariners, 20 questions with Cephalopods, racing orcas and dolphins, dueting with Whales, -and yet- the thing she favors most…”
The sunlight kisses her cold cheek and impossibly, he dances upon the tips of her eyelash before being beaten back with a furious splash! "Please! no more sunlight today!", cries she. And he retreats back into his cloud, dimmed, and confused.
“Yesterday there were duties. Last night there was pain. This morning there was heartache. An hour ago there was listless wandering. And a moment ago, she was enshrouded by a tangle of shadows at the end of her loneliness.”
“O! And that slightly painful yet massage-like- 'pulling' feeling where her shoulder blades met her wet membrane wings which were a bit heavy with wintery water…”
“…wrapping about her skin like the vines of the strangler fig on these hapless trees, like his insatiable hands and arms, like his greedy western thoughts…”
“Perhaps it was his room-shaking laugh or that twinkly smile which shone to her like a sun through the snow…”
And the door opened to a darkness all too familiar as it were the very same pitch as would greet me any other such evening. And tonight with muted olive painted walls and mahogany furniture lining the hallway I should have felt calmly enough-- aye-but...
To be told by the cawing of the crow, the breathing of the distant sea, and the soft kiss of the breeze upon his naked bald pate, "You are now and have heretofore been still more than all of this. Keep existing my friend and lover."
It was the last Full Moon of the warmest months. It seemed to take over the sky with a deep yellow glow of a hue which seemed to race out in all directions and flake golden light on countless orchestral legions of the dark symphony that was the evening countryside.
“He held the shield upon her as though saying “I want your shadow as well” and somewhere in the gentle darkness he had cast upon her, he saw her undone locks. And here as she lay upon his dark jacket on the old mattress they could be the incarnations of Queen Elizabeth and Sir Walter Raleigh.”
“…That firecracker of a child came to me in the time of red pistachio leaves. She loved reaching this part of the book…”
It were as though the seat was a'glow with the ghost of that all-knowing Woman who, once upon a cool September day, bought him this very suit in which he now shrank year after year. And a Golden Grin bubbled up to his time-tattoo'd face.
“And suddenly, these most petite of little performers scattered, aghast in a flurry of membrane wings and tutu's as if in a melodrama at the sight of a looming figure approaching…”
This is the one sadness of the sweet hereafter...
As the years stacked upon one another they traded every kind of laugh- from giggles to raucous ha-ha's over how she had to keep shushing him that day...
"She can't see the pigeons anymore. But she hears them take to the sky in bursts. The sunlight breathes on her knitted skin. She can't see the tower anymore..."
"Indeed and to make matters worse it seemed that the more he polished his armor- the angrier he seemed to be."
"The louder the rain came, the softer the message and yet it was all she could hear. And with thirsty ears she drank it's faint words..."
Sometimes its a Special Train. A Phantom of a Train. It belongs to my Otherworldly friends and I. And we're long gone.
