Lacexleaves - New Beginnings

It is dusk and I am currently wandering in the outskirts of town with no destination in mind. An enchanting perfume is borne to me by the wind. I have been strolling around in this fashion for the last half an hour and have met with multiple very interesting things. The sky is blue, a clear, Misty blue. The blue of a summer evening,Freckled with Opal and violet clouds. I can hear water trickling into the soil nearby, a delightful group of crickets have decided to favour me with their songs. I recall reading once crickets were the souls of poets, poets that never attained fame or wrote much in their lifetime, who sang of kings and queens, hopes and dreams, love and hate. Alright then, I shall stay and listen to them. Listen until their music becomes stitched into my very bones. I lost my way in an dimly lit street, without much care or alarm, I wondered what were the names of those flowers on the corners were, if flowers indeed they were, those witchy looking things. I walked on and found, rather to my disappointment, that I recognised the road, I sighed silently and proceeded.

I stopped at multiple patches of wildflowers and asked them if they would let me in a secret. “Of course not!” Exclaimed the little yellow cousin of the daisies. “Why would you think we would reveal our secrets to you, foolish human ?” She asks. “Because I am but, as you say, a foolish girl, will you not bequeath a ray of light to my clouded heart?” The bluebell laughed, as she swayed in the breeze. “I will, maiden,I will.” She mocked. “But only if you show yourself to be worthy of it.” before I could return her impish greeting, a sudden gust of wind blew them all away, to a faraway place which I would never see. “A secret”, the bracken chuckled. With a wistful parting gaze at the direction in which they had floated away, I turned and started for the house, running along roads where there was no one to see, brushing my hand against bushes, lingering only to observe lizards and gather flower spoil. Gosh, what an armful! I had dark inky bluebells, little daisies, something that appeared to be what I thought was bracken, a perplexing bunch of nettles, a clump of daffodil-like things that looked suspiciously elfin, and a while lot of ferns, ranging from bright yellow to faint purple. The rest of the walk was spent in pleasant dreaming, largely abstract. When I reluctantly returned to the car, it was properly dark, and my twilight of wandering had ended. After I returned home and had taken out my souvenirs and laid them out on the bed, I reached for my books and left flowers and ferns at specific passages. The scent I mentioned earlier still clings to me, and I am surrounded by the ghosts of flowers I vainly plucked for adornment.

my five year plan? read a lot of books. visit museums. walk through woods. stand in a river. adopt a little kitty. drink lemonade while sitting in a rocking chair on my porch.

The limitations of language - sounds and symbols that encapsulate that which is fundamentally incommunicable - perception, first hand experience

Frosted glass between rain and life

I run my hand through the same old withered branches,

Drenched in the same old tired rain,

Far away the sunset harbours the lost gold of

Odysseys gone by, and if the wind were to hide

Within it some unremembered glow from the land

Of unknown secrets, the evening will gently

Whisk away the covers of the coquette,

And reveal to us a maiden under the bent willow,

Sweet as the apples from the orchards where our dreams

Were buried. She will beckon for the children

To gather around the fire and tell them the story

Of Zerah and Zulamith, whilst we twist the

Slender branches of the cherry tree into a throne

Fit for the brides of heaven to recline on,

Place at the altar a wreath of dead roses,

And hope that the silent fragrance borne to the shore

Is enough for the sea to give up the child

She drew to her heart in death’s storm.

…

And dare I tag anyone? @pollosky-in-blue perhaps you’ll like the story?

The mild breeze twisted over the cloud of sunset,

Poised as though the sea had taken up

the form of her capricious admirer,

To stretch out her arms and reach for her

untouchable muse.

The pearly light of the moon twinkles

with the light of heavenly solace

Upon the ceaseless wave wandering in confounding

aimlessness,

All while the depths of the untouched ocean

rumble with the disturbed murmurs whispered to an

empty heart, wherein the first star at twilight

and the final star at dawn, will be united in a

yearning embrace, someday.

October is my empire. Terror is part of me. 一 Tamura Ryūichi

1. Alfonsina Storni, 2. Cy Twombly, 3. William Stanley Merwin, 4. Cy Twombly, 5. Virginia Woolf, 6. Jorge Albericio, 7. Gala Mukomolova, 8. Andrei Tarkovsky, 9. Czesław Miłosz, 10. Andrei Tarkovsky, 11. Thomas Wolfe, 12. Andrei Tarkovsky, 13. Louise Glück

The lizard scurries back into its hole, as the sky above is wedded in a unison of coral and blue. The procession is clouded by a wreath of shadow, pockets of light gathering to pay homage to the departed. ‘Rainbow dreams’ call to be found.