Clouds … Screenplay


Character notes :

Olivia : 10 year old child who represents the mystical … She never speaks , instead we hear the narrator speaking for her . At crucial times in the plot , Olivia enters the scene .



Establishing her character :

music playing … Intermezzo from Mascagni Opera , Cavalleria Rusticana

Olivia dances alone on a stage …. note to cameraman , slow motion

Narrator : ” She is here to bear witness “. ( bells chime 3 times )  Place changes from stage to room on Orcas Island where Olivia remains thru the entire scene  slightly out of focus in a foreground corner of the frame … here enters Tavisha .

voice of narrator continues , ” Tavisha hasn’t slept , Eric took up all the air in the room . After she leaves him a shift will appear , after the blush of her own company wears off .

Note to cameraman : close – up of objects , curtains , flowers in room

” She is aware of his absence as if the lack of him moved into the room with her like a shadow hanging from the bedroom curtains at breakfast “.

” She is here to bear witness “. ( bells chime )

note to cameraman : clear focus on Olivia’s bright eyes as the scene now changes to a room in Hawaii  where a tropical breeze pushes the curtains swaying out the window . Olivia sees beyond the breakers , waves that bleed from grey to white , a white horizon where everything melts into everything else .

” She is here to bear witness “. ( bells chime )


Note to cameraman : beach scene view of Olivia from the back , watching Tavisha

” Tavisha folds Eric’s letter , wades into the surf and releases it like a paper boat . It bobs and dips , words on paper gradually taken by the current of ocean waves “.

Tavisha silently cries watching it float into the distance .

Camera close-up of Olivia’s face .

“She is here to bear witness “. ( bells chime ) Intermezzo music fades …


Personal note : the writer goes out to search for small video camera !


Clouds … continued screenplay


Scene lV : London

tender flute music from previous scene , changing to mythical music playing from a Stradivarius violin  as the camera moves starkly onto musician dressed as homeless man …




Train whistle blows while glass bottles from the pub across the street , tinkle like wind chimes and a man speaking  Arabic in the background .


Abu has been on her trail like a ley line anticipating a crossing . Tavisha carries her baby blue suitcase , the suitcase with a voice that speaks of mystery , the voice Abu longs to hear again . He watches like an eagle as she sits facing him from the corner where he stands across the lobby at Moorgate Station . A handsome form dressed in a simple robe like an urchin of the sea , his low chanting barely heard like a distant dolphin call reaching the innocent , all-knowing children he leaves long , long days with as he meets their bright eyes and smiles at them on their way in the lobby .


swaying soul music playing :

The lobby clock ( close-up ) , chimes two in the afternoon . A pair of spectacles fall and break , the sharp shattering sound of glass hitting large tiles from the quarries of Africa , echoes it sound like crashing cymbals ending a symphony . A sound that only a few in the crowd hear and take short notice as they meander thru the station , looking pensively at the train schedule in their hands .


note to cameraman : averted gazes and ambiguous gestures of partially obscured characters in this scene imbued by the camera with burnished hues and floating clouds .

piano music playing slow , one note treble , one note bass :

Abu has left his realm of mysticism and ritual to follow Tavisha and remains just one of the crowd now as he crosses the room . Over the loudspeaker comes the voice of Keith Richards singing ” The Nearness of You ” .  As Abu sits on the bench behind Tavisha , she smells a riff of vanilla and cinnamon as his long robe swirls the shiny floor rising above his leather sandals like dust from a running camels hoofs . But she is deep in remembering still and does not turn or even notice the long sigh brought forth from her baby blue samsonite at the close proximity of Abu . And with this sigh , a sheet of paper flutters loose from Tavishas notebook to the the ground where Abu , unknown to her , swiftly snatches it into his large , dark wrinkled hands , hands soft like the dew on a hibiscus flower warmed by the sun .

quirky macabre music playing :

The children see all and smile sweet again like a warm bath on a rainy morning , as they pass by Abu , ” Blessed are they who see beautiful things in humble places where other people see nothing ” , he whispers . The words on the paper sing their clue to the ancient secret keeper as he slides it carefully under the linen folds of his linen robe , baby blue samsonite still sighing .

meloncholy music interlude :



A vision suddenly appears to Tavisha of a room once lived in and a sleeping ing boy she does not know but looks familiar . A vision masterpiece impregnates her as a man in the bar across the street is heard saying , “Let’s drink bourbon and listen to Bessie Smith “.

camera moves over to corner where Abu originally stood … a new character is revealed … A little girl stands here now , look ! , it is Olivia attaching cut-out paper wings to her ankles . We only catch a glimpse of her world as if seen thru a moving series thru a narrow slat in the door .


Camera close-up of the words on the captured paper

music playing , ” When a man Loves a woman ” , sung by Percy Sledge

A Room Now Gone


the moons shadow

upon my heart

sleepless tonight

preparing to depart .

the soft sadness

in your brown eyes

a cry of naked thoughts

in my secret heart .

could you hear them

in all that is silent between us .


your eyes met mine

you in the other room

and me in the kitchen

awareness sharp

a slow smile tender like an offering .

i wished you peace at the door

saw Jesus with his purple robe

and felt wings grow

upon my sun-burnt shoulders

in my secret life .


will I come back

from where I’ve been ?

the moons shadow

upon my radiant heart

makes me want to cry

a room now gone

a life listening

in my secret heart .


Tavisha , 2011



Men are grouped together like a Cezanne painting , on the platform as the loudspeaker announces , ” The Empire Builder , leaving from platform number eight ” . The oncoming train rumbles , whistle blows and playing music loudly is a symphony of guitars and harmonicas as Abu slowly walks in front of the camera , following Tavisha and her sighing suitcase .








Scene 1 : London

lyrical orchestra music playing :

It is the first month of the modern year 2012 and the darkness on the street has a voice . Remembering the timeline of the momentous year that has just preceded , Tavisha sits in the Moorgate Station with her back to us , hypnotic like the pyramids , the light from the lobby window near her but not shining on her , reading these lines from her diary :

We are away from each other

I left you on your island a long time ago

to find my wilderness .

I found these woods so beautiful and strange

Thoughts of you above a mountain range .


Abu , the secret keeper , stands across the noisy room like a sphinx , a holy sphinx .

a cigarette lighter clicks

She remembers … The beauty of the Golden Ratio and the paintings of da Vinci had sparked her brain into unforeseen activity which caused her heart to beat like the rolling crash of breaking waves along the mighty Pacific shore where she found herself acknowledging her aloneness , by choice , to be without her lover . She left him early that June morning long before the sun rose , with no kiss from the night before … the night before …

Tender piano music playing :


Scene 11 Pacific Northwest Island

Eric opens the door and comes slowly upon her in all his handsomeness to discover the clothes she wore , that he always loved , heaped in a pile as if the northern wind had gotten ahold of them , her yellow dress of joy , green boots , coat too large , black bra , and her box of petals and poems abandoned in the corner .


She sits on the floor under the red lantern hanging , the one he had bought for her for their freshly painted , deepest blue mural bedroom of swirling angels and nebulas clouds with eyes looking upon them in sleep on their bed spun with silk , in the center of the room .

Verdi Requim Mass playing :

” I need to be free ” , is all she says , and he can bear to wait only a moment in the silence of that painted sky where Orion reflects eternity , for her to say more , but she doesn’t .

Haunting solo brass music playing :

And in the changing of the room the silken threads transform into beams of sun and she smiles , smiles tenderly to him even with her hurting heart . She stands now … stands with her long narrow back straight , stands and stares at her arm where moles like spots on a leopard leap into the black of his eyes .


Later , months later , the black ink of his letter tells her in poetry the depressing hold his not yet divorced wife had over him causing him to run to her like a migration , that day of the ” last goodbye ” , in total dependency and telling her everything that was sacred like the flute of Krishna , between him and Tavisha …

Intense chorale music playing :

A new woman enters the scene from a foreign land and offers Eric a kiss … a kiss of promise , a kiss from a goddess , a kiss new again . A bold kiss that says , ” life is long “.

Scene 111: Hawaii


Triumphant brass music with percussion playing :

A celebration erupts from the beach like the golden blaze from the volcano as the beautiful young mother , instilled with eyes of sparkling life like champagne uncorked , bravely and with skin aglow , guides her surfboard , catching her first wave in triumph while her baby boy in Tavishas arms , cries out in astonishment as if it were the end of the world , at all the vibrant sounds of jubilation coming from the edge of the ocean .


Now look what is seen : Above the turquoise sea where the sky is in everyone’s hair and “life delights in life ” , the clouds float gently by from those Orcas blue bedroom walls …

Lyrical wind instruments playing :


I was with you for awhile

long nights of winter beauty

I felt the breeze at dawn with you

heard secrets vast and vexing .

The sky remained thru empty branches

the morning sang of love.

Do not go back to sleep now , love even as I go.

Two worlds have touched and shimmered thru us

a cloak of silver strands .


We were young and died together

the storyteller told me ,

wrapped in robes of flowing red

a Spanish war upon us .

I wondered why we looked alike

in hands and feet and bodies warm .

I loved you then and always have

a river reaching for it’s kingdom

keeps me close to only you .


I held you for awhile this time

a courageous warrior once

so wondrously familiar .

But a storm within , bids me go

A fierce embrace takes hold of me

where even the gods speak of God

and where the door is round and open .


I was with you for awhile

with wings of savage beauty

I could not keep you then or now

your river raging thru me .


May 29 , 2011


Tender flute music playing :

As Abu walks slowly by …


The Suitcase


A suitcase found itself standing around the corner from the open gate . ” It’s perfect here “, Baby Blue Samsonite thinks , watching the flower of life bloom a sunrise amber like the eternal flame still burning at Arlington for President Kennedy .


A girl appears on the scene , appears floating like a bird with head bowed , a girl who sits down in silence , a silence killing her with its loneliness making everything ordinary too beautiful to bear . She hears water dripping from the rusty sprinkler head , dripping methodically like the even rows of tombstones stretching into the horizon … Listen now , listen to the dripping sound .


Baby Blue opening around the corner

around the corner of the earth

of the sea

of a tree .

Around the corner of my heart

from the pasture

from the orchard

around the corner of the sun .

Baby Blue , infant blue ,

stars across her chest

around the corner

from my house .

A new word , a strange quest ,

a grain of sand

embedded in an open wound

to become a life

around the corner

from the sailing ship .

Baby Blue

around the corner

around the corner of the earth ,

Baby Blue .


This girl , on her way to someplace , she knows not where , watches for hours this samsonite suitcase with its name tag , Joyce .

” Why are you left here , are you forgotten “?

” Open me please “, the suitcase whispers .

The girl hears the dripping sound . A gust of wind like the sound of a trumpet , blows the suitcase down and twin caterpillars crawl to open the latches , one on each side . The lonely girl looks inside  ..the scent of roses. Oh look , look and see … A frock of fascination , a frock of gratitude , a yellow frock of joy , a petticoat of wind , cloud and sea waves . A frock embroidered with music notes and one with names around a sash . .. and look , look an envelope faintly written on with ink … It says , ” OPEN , repack suitcase and leave for someone around the corner of your life “.






Joyce Audrey … 1927 – 2007



I saw her . I saw her tonight . My mother lingers like a ghost . I saw her with a samsonite suitcase . She still has the pink rose petals on her dead body … pink lips . A body as fragile as a young childs , her ponytail a waterfall of hair . Once an innocent teenager who loves music , attracted to the “bad boy” of fast cars , cigarettes , beer and horses .



A kindergarden teacher becoming a young mother . A pretty young mother whose home is Chinese curtains and black lacquered lamps , wallpapered bedrooms , a knotty pine kitchen table set with California dishes and milk in tall glass cups , a turquoise refrigerator and a built-in oven , salmon tiled bathrooms and large mirrors . She loves sunshine and is afraid of lakes , loves beautiful dresses , matching hats and shoes , and is afraid of animals , loves to entertain with manners and style , and is afraid of intimacy with friends . She dances with my dad in the kitchen and loves affection with her little children … I see her tonight like this , tonight my mommy , my mom , my mother . She lingers around my heart like brilliant blue light from a diamond deep in the caves of a continent .




In gratitude and love for you , mom , tender is the night  … and to her grand-daughters , Denise , Jacqueline Joyce and Andrea … beautiful young mothers of loveliness …



The 45th Parallel



She puts a touch of perfume behind her ear before leaving and later Sam wants to brush the hair from her face . Now , listen , listen quietly … the wind ! … like a migration Tavisha follows . Here , just outside of her door , lies a musky , rhythmic whisper that often calls the deer . Today she returns to these woods . Look ! What is that ? … a feather on the path , eagle feathers perhaps dropped from a nest , the cocoon of birth . The eagle speaks , the eagle illuminates , the mighty eagle soars aloft like a mystic . The air here is as lush and dazzling as a dream . Further along she now sits and out of her back-pact finds “War and Peace” whose pages flutter like bird wings as if bewitched by Natasha . Suddenly Sam appears , look , look at his eyes , they are small but are about to see enormous things and the blue of them is like liquid sky . Not having seen eachother in a long time , not since the great comet of 1992 when the flowers began to bloom out of the towns thick , high stone walls , they are caught in a scene of remembered love affairs , deaths , changing fortunes and impulsiveness .



” I’m glad you’re here ” Sam sits and they feel huddled together like on a raft .

” I’m glad too , it sure is a beautiful day “.

” It … um …has lots of colors “.

” Do you have a favorite season Sam “?

” A favorite season “?

” Personally , I like the fall a lot but I also love it when it rains on a hot summer day “.

” What is it you like about rain on a hot summers day “?

” I don’t know … calms me down , makes the plants happy and the thunder , I love the thunder … it makes me think of God but not in a bad way “. Tavisha stares at Sams quietness and asks , ” What is it “?

” I’m just so aware that what goes on inside my head are things I’ve read about . My real life experiences are actually rather narrow … I don’t think about the seasons , not for the longest time anyway . Because I didn’t sense things in a normal way I couldn’t sense them … they weren’t real to me “.

” What was real to you Sam “?

” The time in between the seconds and my books and my friend “.

” Wait for the sunset tonight . It will be glorious Sam , you won’t be disappointed “.

” I look forward to that “.



Look , the sky is intwined now in the tangle of the forest . The molecules of her being drift into the pines and cedars , sinking below the surface of the waters and getting carried down the river . The drum beats . The Great Spirit , the great mystery and the bald eagle flys . Sam stands in the shadow of the sun . Waiting with hope , like the slow breaching of whales , Tavisha kisses his forehead …