“O! And that slightly painful yet massage-like- 'pulling' feeling where her shoulder blades met her wet membrane wings which were a bit heavy with wintery water…”
And the door opened to a darkness all too familiar as it were the very same pitch as would greet me any other such evening. And tonight with muted olive painted walls and mahogany furniture lining the hallway I should have felt calmly enough-- aye-but...
To be told by the cawing of the crow, the breathing of the distant sea, and the soft kiss of the breeze upon his naked bald pate, "You are now and have heretofore been still more than all of this. Keep existing my friend and lover."
It were as though the seat was a'glow with the ghost of that all-knowing Woman who, once upon a cool September day, bought him this very suit in which he now shrank year after year. And a Golden Grin bubbled up to his time-tattoo'd face.
She closes her eyes to the feeling of her fingernails underwater. She doesn’t see the black of eyelids but instead- the deep green of quiet air under the pond’s surface.
“And suddenly, these most petite of little performers scattered, aghast in a flurry of membrane wings and tutu's as if in a melodrama at the sight of a looming figure approaching…”
"A magical ritual which required as many seconds as salt crystals and grains of brown sugar; as many hours as pieces of garlic. And Denisa and the Gears turned a song as the brisket brined and marinated away..."
As the years stacked upon one another they traded every kind of laugh- from giggles to raucous ha-ha's over how she had to keep shushing him that day...
"She can't see the pigeons anymore. But she hears them take to the sky in bursts. The sunlight breathes on her knitted skin. She can't see the tower anymore..."
"It is said that whence a person sees a painting of a past life they are driven to madness soonafter. Was that it perhaps?"
"The eyes of the inquisitive children hit them all at once with a piercing collective ignorance that seemed to bring its own desolate breeze..."
Aye, but it didn't feel as long as that slow dragging slide of her spine down the trunk of the Old Hornbeam Tree.
Nothing else had such a way of making the child lose herself... quite like a sunset.
"Maggie saw him hoist aloft his tiny quarry with spry glee, his face seemed to crack in two with more crows feet than a murder into what she thought was the biggest smile since she said yes to him..."
"His hand is right there- right in front of me! Heavens, I know it can't happen but more and more I wonder- can something living be... touched?"
"An interesting detail about her was that she had nine fingers and no college. Yea, but that didn't matter. In the name of that fluttering eye-lash of hers- it didn't matter."
