Scenes

I watched the seagulls flying in a whirl
sticking close in formation then scattering.
I watched them and I could only think how
I was probably the only person in the world
watching this scene right now...

Polaroid

...We are so close to the water. She takes off her shoes, places them neatly beside her. The dress she is wearing bunches at her thighs as she draws her knees close to her chest. She is quiet and so we sit in silence watching the current rush through the narrows then slowing where the path widens. I close my eyes, and I almost feel alone if it wasn’t for my arm brushing against her arm. I hear her body slide along the gritty rock surface. Squinting my eyes open I see her inching into the water where it settles just above her knees. She gathers folds of fabric, holding the dress to her waist. A small piece of dress escapes her grip and dips into the water. Tiny flowers soak through and turn translucent. When she moves, the wet fabric clings to her thigh leaving tiny flowers imprinted on her skin. She stands still, letting the current influence a slight sway. She stands with her back to me for what seems like a long time. A few strands of hair lift in the breeze. She stands in the water up to her knees like she is standing in a field of gold she has unexpectedly discovered. Shape-shifting light reflects on her skin from the water’s surface, pools of melting precious metal.

Imagined sweet

Until recently I used to eat honeysuckle, or rather I would try to drink the dew. I would pick a honeysuckle blossom from it's vine, bite the small green tip of the flower where it once met the stem. Then I would gently suck the flower searching for that honeysuckle scent. There was never lot to taste, maybe the slightest prick of sweet would alert the tip of my tongue that it had met with something perfectly delicate and new. The sensation was never as real as I wanted it to be. Instead it was small and fleeting. In the end, I decided honeysuckles were better to smell than taste... And actually they are almost always better to imagine than anything. There's a sort of empty feeling though, in the imagining of something so ellusively sweet. I bite the inside of my bottom lip and wait for the feeling to pass. I've given up crushing flower petals against my teeth, but the imagined sweet won't leave me alone.


*photo by jacilluch on flickr

Harvest moon

Some evening skies are yellow
And over my head they’re blue
What happened to the green between
It happened to me too
-vashti bunyan, against the sky

Everything you do disarms me in an alarming way. The last few days of summer are finally stamped out with one puff of breath in the morning air of autumn, which has arrived one week early. Driving home from work yesterday, feeling my body unravel all the tension I've collected through spring and summer just trying to resist the inevitable fall, I realized it's useless... There isn't anything I can do to protect myself from the pure gold sunrise melting over a silvery blue sky. I'm sensitive to the cold, that is to say I am always cold, and the cold has begun, or is beginning. Still there is something radiating, no doubt a warming of my blood from some heady bout of love that always strikes me without warning in these early autumn moments. If this season came to me in human form, I know what it would look like. I would recognize that red leaf anywhere, those green eyes turning amber. My reflection captured forever, right next to the mosquito and the fly. Here we are. The planets have aligned a little early or maybe a little late. I'm not one to judge the passing of time. I just know what I feel. I know you'll split me open with all your perfect sunsets, bruising the flesh of a sky that unconditionally holds you. I know I'll give too much of myself as I always do. I know you'll give me pleasure just by being in your presence. I'll take what you give and I'll grow bold. My cheeks will have the rosy glow of youth. I will be kind to everyone I know. I will seek quiet moments of reflection. I will give thanks every time I breathe. I will be inspired. People will notice and wonder. I will tell them it is all because of you. I will tell them I am in love. Soon plumes of smoke will rise from chimneys. Another batch of leaves will fall to cover last years remnants. Tedious hands stand at the ready to create the tatted lace leaves a new autumn demands. I will warm up to the chill and chatter of black-winged birds just before I am ushered into the unbearable silent cold. Alone again and buried in snow. I'll wake up in December and wonder if you were ever there, if you were ever real, if you meant what you whispered that one night in September when your face rose above me like a harvest moon.

Traveling without moving