The awakening
He awoke to the brush of her fingers across his brow.
“Come.”
Peering blearily at the bedside clock. “Come? Where? Now? Do you know what time it is?”
“Yes. Now. It is always now. Come and see.”
She pads silently from the room. He drags aside the sheet and follows.
Outside the sun’s first rays kiss the treetops. She is standing at the garden’s centre, arms akimbo.
“See. Hear. Smell.”
For an instant there is something. He does see. He thinks he sees. Something.
A magpie warbles, the breeze whispers and she is dancing in a swirl of tiny blue … petals? Butterflies?
“How can you …? Why …?”
“Hush. There is no why. Because … everything.”
______________________________________
Thanks to jenimcmillan and Rumi.
Wonderous! I am still in shock at being compared to Rumi… yikes!
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Hmm, just the other day I was drawn to the tiny blue petals of
cornflowers.
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Did you ever read (or watch) Philip K. Dick’s A Scanner Darkly?
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Nope. Why?
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Long story. But a good one. Check it out. The movie is well worth a look too, if you don’t mind rotoscope.
Or you can just click on the link I provided to the Wikipedia entry and read the synopsis if you’re too lazy.
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Oi! Just because I have different tastes in what is ‘worth a look’, doesn’t
make me lazy.
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Not so sure about that. People who get their art via criticism, synopses and Readers Digest Condensed Books have different tastes because they are lazy. Or maybe ADHD.
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You’re just a snob!
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Nah. If I was a snob I’d be pretending my superior artistic discernment was just a matter of taste or opinion. To be a proper snob you’ve got to fake humility. Unconvincingly.
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WHEN I LOSE YOU
When I lose you
will you remember the leaves
of my brown name?
Not like an oak, which clings
snow after snow
but like the poplar
spilling her yellow dress
to the insistent fingertips of fall.
The mother of grief
is a kind forgetting
and I tell you now
that I will forget everything
I will forget even you, beloved.
Remembering light
like a leaf stilled in limestone
who would have thought
we could weigh so little?
Pamela Spiro Wagner 11/8/2010
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As it happens, I follow Pamela’s blog.
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Uh oh…I found her poem on another blog. I’ll be in the van.
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