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…
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