Beyond is our world: this is the threshold, how far mortals can trade.
Beyond is where we belong, we, who once lived and haunt these woods.
Beyond you can see us for who we are: the way humans were,
Before the Fall.
Paradise
Threshold #writephoto
There, long ago, when we had space, and the air was pure, there we lived: us, the whole tribe, the children, the very old, the wise and the fools. At night we were safe, the sea protected us. We had many friends, and few enemies. We were poor, and strong.
The cave was our home, where we lived, loved, and died. The world wasn’t ours, but we knew our place, and this place was here, on the threshold. Far beyond was eternity.
Grassy cloud #3TC
velvet, cloud, hippie
Late in the day, emerging from his grass cloud, the ageing hippie saw you, asleep, as you once were, on the velvet pastel of the pool.
Fragrant #writephoto
“Where,” she thought, “where shall I meet you, where for our next date, my dear, so dear love?”
There is no light, darkness reigns, but she knows a place, deep in her memories, the rose garden, in late Spring, the fragrance of the blooms, the humming of the bees. She remembers, she can evoke the place, the time, his face. She sees the colours, feels the warm air on her skin.
She has to be strong, retrace her steps, and his. The monsters are building hell on earth, but she knows where Paradise lies, deep, deep in her heart. Untouchable, safe, as he will be, when they meet again, in the rose garden.
Imagination #writephoto
“It’s a puzzle,” I said as we looked up the victorian wall. “There was something there, before, and the artist…” But I realised my companion was not listening, rather he was looking closely at the colours, and delicately taking small samples of the paint he carefully saved in an envelop. “I wish I could take a picture…” Holmes said finally. “I am sure this has been copied from somewhere.”
Later, at no 221B, as we lit our pipes after dinner, Holmes suddenly declared:
“You were right, Watson, it’s an allegory, and of course you have recognised the pavots, your “artist” is a drug dealer, who advertises his ware locally, and the allegory is about the Nirvana of the opium smoker…”
I sat back, and reflected.
Afrikanische Straße
I leave the lutheran bells ringing clear, behind, the sky a dull lead blanket, but soon I see the green shoots: Nature, the knowing lover, is holding them back, in this chilled Sunday morning, as if to moderate our impatience. She knows how to prolong the foreplay, make us wait, nurse our lust, dream of future ecstasies.
The park is silent, even the birds talk in polite, muted voices. A few runners, the dog walkers, I must be the only tramp. The lake lies still, its waters not yet enticing: the beach is deserted, but for a couple of philosophical ducks. An old crucifix stands, alone, reflecting on a better, perhaps even, glorious past. Yesterday’s winds have covered the ground with small, brittle branches, it may rain soon.
The cool bier goes down so well, a not-quite-Spring treat, solitary pleasure. Some youths walk past, so quiet, survivors of some late Saturday’s party. I take my bulk further north, to the limit of the park; on the other side of the motorway lies the airport. The grumble of sparse traffic can be heard, faintly. The sport grounds are busy, with the serious shouts of enthusiastic soccer players. More dogs are entertaining their mistresses, bored, probably wondering about the human mind . The rain has started its cool morning exercise.
There are two small ponds before the street: I am back in Africa now. I follow Afrikanische for a short while, turn left on Transvaal: where else could I walk in a few minutes across thousands of miles? When I cross over Togo, the pavement is shiny with rain. Soon I find Kameruner: I am home. Girls are walking back to their nests, carrying bread.
Back to my space, I carefully recycle the beer bottle. Bless this city, and its inhabitants.
Image: Samuel Araya, via aeszaaesza.tumblr.com
X #AtoZAprilChallenge
nascent love like –
the new moon turns
its face away
Beginnings glow, and often fail to spark much longer. When we met we knew a few things, that experience was not measured in promiscuity, that love is for most of us a mirage, that looks and bodies change – over time – and “bien fol qui s’y fie”, as le bon Roi Henry reputedly said…
Our geometry evolved, by trial and error, infinite patience, a shared belief in waiting, respect, and, yes, tenderness, without which physical love declines into hell. Early on you decided you’d be on top, mostly. I respected your will to be in control, to decide when, in the end, to rely on this man to be what he claimed to be – nowhere to hide, the armour-less knight. One night we became what we are now: lovers for the long haul, interminable foreplay, exploring the far away shores. Once, I could have made the mistake of dreaming to tame the panther, and was saved by humour, and you showing me the way to understand myself, the feminine side of me.
For now, every time, we discover more, those secret paths that lead to new delights, the beautiful corners of ourselves we have not yet explored, in new geometries of body and soul…
mountain summit
how easily reached
by the autumn wind
– Johnny Baranski
#VisDare 100: Reach
You stand at the gate, no longer a child, and not yet an angel: you see the sign, check on your own palm, it all lines up with the prediction. The years have not altered the meaning, as you recall, when you were last here, eons back, in the mist of a forgotten era, already you knew: you’d come back, and your daughters would follow, for there is no peace, until Gaia is safe, until Mother has reclaimed Her Creation.
For She knows the end, the story written, in the palm of Her hand. And you, sister, you are here to make Her will come true, against the demons, against the war waged in the name of fake deities: Her will be done, as you reach for Heaven, soon your rightful Home.
And so, you cross the threshold, heart beating, your head high, leading the Army of Earth.
Peace.
