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.
“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…”
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.
She closes her eyes to the feeling of her fingernails underwater. She doesn’t see the black of eyelids but instead- the deep green of quiet air under the pond’s surface.
“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…”
"A magical ritual which required as many seconds as salt crystals and grains of brown sugar; as many hours as pieces of garlic. And Denisa and the Gears turned a song as the brisket brined and marinated away..."
"She sees him bow his smiling craggy face down so his lobe meets her lips. The way he does this- one would think he is smaller than her..."
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..."
"It is said that whence a person sees a painting of a past life they are driven to madness soonafter. Was that it perhaps?"
"O, It can be a scary business- the clandestine life of a scarecrow who wants to dance..."
"The eyes of the inquisitive children hit them all at once with a piercing collective ignorance that seemed to bring its own desolate breeze..."
"That giggling infantile phantom she desperately wanted and needed to feel needed by..."
Aye, but it didn't feel as long as that slow dragging slide of her spine down the trunk of the Old Hornbeam Tree.
