Once More , The Narrator

There she was , yes . Her choices were different , yes . The sky was grey and pink , yes . She saw out her window , hills that had eyes , yes . Eyes so brown that their softness created a city , yes . A city for only poets , yes . There she was , yes . She had become her own inspiration , yes .

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Once upon the earth lived a man , a man tender who she loved . She laid in the quiet Β not sleeping . The night was to be the last with him . She remembered Amsterdam where tulips die so beautifully and she thought of northern Michigan where tragedy had happened one year ago , a tragedy in the forest , a storms destruction . And she hoped the forest would take care of itself , hoping for mossy growth on the fallen bark to return , hoping she could shove off into the snowy woods down a hill and slide into heaven . Hoping he could too . She planned her escape during those midnight hours , of laying so still while his sleep of anxiety and sweat created a smell that had always intoxicated her , a lingering scent whose memory saddened her now . With the haziness of dawn approaching , without speaking before he left for work , she dressed into her clothes of yesterday . She pulled the curtains down as if disassembling a nomads tent from an oasis. She did everything methodically , packing her clothes , blankets and rugs , paintings , her writing desktop , dishes from Mexico , her green accordion . She carried it all outside , placing them in a pile , waiting for her brother to come , the wall of belongings looking like a carved facade , carved like the Lost City of Petra . Feeling a desert in her heart , hot , she raised her hand to touch the bones of her face damp , damp as she stepped through the door .

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Days before he had taken her to dinner , I know as I was sitting alone , watching them from the dark corner table . Looking across Main Street from where they were sitting , I saw her black eyes become transfixed on the upper windows of the long term , newly renovated Studio Hotel . Something in her life was ending and another thing was beginning , she wasn’t sure what but she knew she was letting it happen . She told him a story about her soul , how it was like an intimate plot of moist , warm , well cultivated earth with the sun dazzling hot on it and how the appeals of that small heap of earth were unremitting if anything righteous was to grow , righteous of its quality and how this soul needed so much care . She told him it would be very difficult for her to live if it were destroyed again just now .

The night after her escape , alone , she felt lightening hovering courageously . And out her brothers window the trees were moaning like the lover she left , the shadows like wild animal tracks in the abyss of the winter , the winter of 2016 .

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It was beautiful inside the cage , yes . But it was still a cage , yes . He would always be touching her , yes , even when he could not reach her , yes . All the days are holy , yes . The sky was pink and blue , yes . The sky was unfinished , yes .

 

Credits : last photo by Denise Thomasin photography

 

 

46 thoughts on “Once More , The Narrator

  1. Beautiful farewell, despite the sadness that comes with it… πŸ’«
    I love the introspective tone of the story and that unfinished sky, which changes colors as moods and feelings do…
    Thanks for the great reading, dear Meg… Sending much love. Aquileana πŸ˜€

    Liked by 3 people

  2. Bravo – this is fascinating – β€œOnce more unto the breach, dear friends, once more;
    Or close the wall up with our English dead!
    In peace there’s nothing so becomes a man
    As modest stillness and humility:
    But when the blast of war blows in our ears,
    Then imitate the action of the tiger.”

    Liked by 1 person

      • Sadness and worry, but hopefully not loss! Husband has been sick for over a month again like last year when it was four months. Hopefully this means he will have better health when he retires in a few months, God willing!! And we will sell our house. Trying to simplify things to restore him to health and strength. Thanks for your loving wishes. I send the same to you. xx ellen

        Liked by 1 person

  3. For one to write with such feeling as you do Meg.. One has to have lived it.. even in spirit.. So I felt your words, emotions, and I am always in awe of you as you manage to weave colour even within the shadows of the heart..
    Blessings to you dear Meg.. May we all embrace the tide of new beginnings..
    Love Sue ❀

    Liked by 2 people

  4. I could not help but be touched by this, Meg. I particularly stumbled into a pool of quiet at your description of your soul, and it’s receipt of the sun, and the stories it grows beneath that unfinished sky in which we all wander together, finding what we need at last. We glide through the trees towards heaven, and spill over to the side in an open stand of forest, filled with diffuse pink and golden light. It is strange, but we can always see farther in winter, when the leaves have fallen from the trees, and the air is crisp and taut. We can see then the direction we must take, even as our breath moistens the air around us, and our faces become damp with tears. Of what has been and what will be. This unfinished sky is so vast… We start walking…

    Peace and Love,
    Michael

    Liked by 1 person

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