We live our moments in poetry and prose. You take me down my stubbled memories and let them slide like paper…like fuzzy photographs…wide angle shots of a life I once lived…a person who once held my body within places. My presence is in the places…the moments and the walls where we all resided for brief eternities.
These days are velvety and drifting like old smells conjured up in the back of my memory. You feel like home and you feel like dreams. You move through me with grace and perfumes I’ve never smelled but once before. Such longing in the fire gently burning on our feet. We slide down banisters of coffee and cream…languid liquors that make my eyes droop with dazzled dazes. Our socks glide over the polished hard wood and the clangs of plates on marble welcome every new sight and smell into this swiftly unfolding new memory. Life is only all but new memories and old ones. You all know some parts of my heart that even I have forgotten in my scaly fresh days. Our attempts to separate our lives that never quite fit.
Good morning beautiful day…it is snowing and my whole family is here. White magic.
My relationship with Bryan might be one of my most important ones. To postulate with him the way we do…to have someone be able to challenge my deepest thoughts at 2 in the morning…in a real way…to express great philosophical ideas with whom I have no one else to venture to those places with…that is a very special thing.
There is a house on a hill…shrouded in grey fog…that speaks and whispers to the wind great tragedies of the human spirit. I can almost feel the fire still. This snow feels like a silent prayer. There is this mystical magic to snow. The whole world gets quiet and peaceful and the snow reaches out to you from something other than sky. An ethos far beyond our knowing senselessness. This is not death but wonder. This is a season of barren mystery and perfect longing. The entire landscape of the world has changed and under its blissful burden, I walk like a spirit caught between the air and the space between me and my essence. I’m somewhere in the flurries. They know me and I know nothing.
There is a secret in my soul that not even I will ever know. And if I sit out in the snow patiently for long enough…I can finally feel myself become wholly aware of the snow and its own mysterious presence.
Nothing heals the heart better than family, food and mother earth.
The great tragedy is that I ever have to come inside.
These days feel like perfect old memories with the corners folded over and the edges burned in…old sepia-toned smiles and clouded eyes that stick out in a sea of something that smells of faded glory days.