Monday, March 7, 2016
Solace of the warm arm above the pillow. Solace of a creamy coffee anticipated. Visit from an elusive muse leaving behind near-undeciphirable pencil scribbles on the tiny notebooks. Solace of that dreamy, rumpled smile followed by a clumsy kiss. Solace of the tenderness behind it. Solace of this small, undramatic, unconditional, unhurried, undemanding happiness.The rustle of pre-dawn shadows from which all pain has departed, only the solace of sleep remains.
Agara Lake: It is the leaf-falling season again. Air hallucinating in a drench of dragonflies and yellowing leaves. Liquiscent amber deepening into purple. A blur of a bird-note, quiet rumble of feathers. Trees bloom in a delirium of flowers, the rest display their fine mesh of fragile cartilage holding the dear secrets of nests and hives. Even in the heart of the city, nature springs forth from every crack and forgotten corners. Everything in its sheerest shade. I drown in the crashing waves of epiphanies.
To enmesh in the fronds of your languid replies.
To carry this quiet, inexplicable despair within me like a fragile glass bird.
To become an anodyne to your wound.
To accidentally notice the glint of that faded wedding ring and suddenly feel a flooding, rush of immeasurable love.
To talk to your adored, sleeping shoulder – lips close to your dreaming skin - ending in a hushed moist-rose kiss.
To heal with a touch.
To forget the rest of the world for a moment.