In the first part, it was warm. There was no learning, only being. The bright morning star let itself down on the world. It was on the skin, the rubber and canvas parts of the shoes, and somehow in the hair itself. There was a golden thread and it weaved itself throughout continents and even stayed glowing in the nights, in the dreams and visions. The memory of this afterwards was of beaches and birds, piers and fish, waves lapping softly, their whitecaps rising up trying to kiss the salt air. This was the beloved, and it was not known that the beloved could be blocked or made to appear opaque or worse, invisible, by any artifact or circumstance.
Then the second part came. A winter storm of sorts. The world froze over. There was no evidence of the whitecaps and even the pier was a dream and a distant one at that. If there was a gold thread,- it had been severed or burned from a secret flame, perhaps at the hands of a demonic arsonist of malevolent spirit let out on the earth. No summits or verdant fields remained. Youth with its gleam and glisten, its shine and sublime time and rhyme, were gone. If it were not enough- the winter winds reached beyond cold and became vexatious, - all risen up from a slumber, - ready to harm and harm they did. The winter took almost everything. It took the horse and the barn, the cities of summer, - the rich and wonderful autumnal hues. It took the beloved.
Long times stayed like that. But the ice finally broke and the summer returned. This time, it was appreciated, for the winter, like a burglar, like a spiritual and physical violation, could be remembered. Yet the trauma’s scar, still visible, was blocked out now by the new morning sun. The chaparral made interesting shapes and bits of it got dislodged and blown across spring’s afternoon. Sometimes there was a sun shower, an actual rainbow, and the feral animals stretched and sang, swam and ran, dreaming out their own visionary existences. Yes, Providence had smiled upon the world again, and it nestled into a great and arrived kismet.The beloved had returned.
Out in the countryside a white bird flew across the way charmed and free like, as they say, nobody’s business…