Is it our light?
The light from our Sun?
So much is frozen,
will it ever thaw?
And then, will we have
to build an Arch?
winter
Fallen leaves
Photo by Alexandra Shchelkunova on Pexels.com
This year it may have arrived late, but now, it is here. The time of the year when shadows play tricks, shallow shapes appear, as if conjured up by a malicious genie, and then disappear, erased. This lovely vision may not be real, those blond hair, flying in the light wind, are not what they seem: as I got nearer, anxious to see the face, it’s nowhere, it’s just me, and some hidden gnome, invisible, yet present, and I think, laughing silently. The light is low, diffused, under the trees one does not recognise anything, cannot see through the light mist: I see you, but is it you? Or an ancient witch pretending to be you?
The waters of the canal reflect a deep green that doesn’t not come from the sky, but from an elsewhere, a deep, unfathomable to us, humans. We lost the skill to see this light, but was it ever a skill, or rather, a right? Gold and brown, grey and a colour which is undefined, a wavelength our eyes don’t capture. Dark knights ride in the clouds, bearing runes that may signal our end, our dismissal from what is, still, paradise. I feel small, in a world that, for now, and the next few months, no longer smiles at me. Those ghosts are not my friends, they merely remind me that life is short.
And Winter is coming.
Frozen #writephoto
“I know where we are, we walked this path many times. Was it yesterday? It was summer still, and yet you see: today the ground is hard frozen, how can this be? ”
“My love, you are confused. We’ve travelled a long time, this place is not that you recognise, we are far away from home, a long way away from summer…”
“What are you telling me? Are we lost? How can we be now in winter?”
“We have to rest. You see, we have what it takes to survive, this far North, and we must keep warm.”
Snowfall #writephoto
“Don’t get too close!”
“What do you mean? Do you think I could wake him up? It’s a rock, just a big ‘un! Relax!”
The snow continues falling, nothing moves, bar the flakes in the light wind. I know it’s not a rock, I know what’s there, and I don’t want to risk it. But this friend of mine is too cheeky. This could turn out pretty bad.
“I’m not leaving without touching it!” She really wants to tease me. “Come on! Let’s pull its tail!”
And she starts walking, toward the trees, toward it. It.
I see her standing there, in her big coat, pretty, rosy cheeks, her blond hair catching the snow.
“Hey! Look! It’s not moving!”
I sigh. She’s not the first one to do this. But now, it is moving, not the big mass, but the ground around it. I can see, I feel the light vibrations, something deep is fluttering, just a small tremor.
“Come back please, I am getting cold…”
“You’re just such a coward, you are!” She laughs.
She looks so young, her clear voice resonates in my ears, soon a murmur, as she slowly disappears in the frozen ground. A soft motion, silent, as I watch, petrified , and the snow continues falling.
In the Pale Light of Winter #fivewords
charcoal, shade, pale, wake, lucid
The rain fell, almost silent, but she could hear the little stream, outside, through the open window. She called the instant the lucid wake: those minutes before the first signs of the pale dawn. Then, everything is clear, the events of the past days in sharp relief, as if lit from inside. His smile, the fire on the beach, the shade under the pine trees, the smell of charcoal. But this wasn’t yesterday, it was years ago, her already distant past. And then it had been Summer…
Then the wine had tasted better, the air cleaner, the waves softer. His skin was like the sun itself. Where was he now? The lucid wake: she was alone, all fires long dead.
She could hear the little stream. Winter would end, another Spring would come.
Image source: https://wallpapersafari.com/winter-beach-scenes-wallpaper/
Cet autre moi… #fivewords
tremble – hit – desire – alter – depth
The fragile leaf trembles in the cold winds,
its desire for warmth altered
to fear in the depth of winter,
soon the cruel ice will hit
its feeble skin…
Image source: https://pxhere.com/en/photo/1198169
Onward #writephoto
We stop at the top of the small hill, and look down at the road meandering away from us. The bikes lie on the short grass, next to tall poles that remind us that, here, the snow can erase everything, and level the landscape, but we are too early for it. The air is cold, the pale rays of the winter sun lit the distant crags. Soon the night will fall. We set the tent not far from here, and lit a fire. Tomorrow is another day.
Untrodden #writephoto
The world is born anew. The air is clean, the path is untrodden. The sky is empty. There is no sound, no cloud. There is nothing. Is this the end?
Turning #writephoto
Yesterday… We walked in this valley, under the burning sun, hand in hand, believing in the eternal summer. Yesterday, perhaps, more than you, my love, I longed for Autumn, and the fall of leaves. Did I believe Time had stopped? Did I believe Earth was flat, after all?
Or was I inebriated, drunk in our love?
But now, Winter has come, silent, ineluctable: the hills are white with snow, our shoes leave no trace on the frozen ground. Nature has taken back what is hers, the air is cold, yesterday’s azure sky is now deep grey.
The light is out.
Turrets #writephoto
When we left – how long ago was it? – it was summer. As we look over the tall trees, disappearing through the dark, icy air, we know that, here, wherever “here” is, it’s winter. But we don’t feel the cold, we just know it is.
Through the foliage covered with snow, the vision of a dream-like castle, its spires and turrets, appears, emerging from the mist. Is it a dream, or a nightmare? Are we lost, have we taken the wrong turn, on whatever road we followed?
Are we elsewhere? When did we leave the warmth and light of our city? This world is grey, and, now, we cannot guess what horrors await us.
