an equal and opposite reaction

emerging from the equinox, the shadows of my room no longer soothe, I am dappled and sunkissed, I elope with the rays, strain to capture it in my ribs. this is the perfect season. if I could take fairweather as a lover, i would surrender to the cool dark night. birthing a thousand discarded feathers, christening them duvet and doona and quilt. I ride the seasons as a tourist swims with wild dolphins; with fleeting touchs and minor elations. Click clacking images into an internal slideshow of long forgotten memories.

steam

a deep rumble, and I am almost blown open, this pressure builds below the skin. small potholes leak steam, and I am simmering,unable to discern my direction.

the submerged resurfaces in ice and steam. we will always return to water. weaving through stone, we carve our paths back to our ancestoral homes. in these terrains of contrast, the mind collapses. the mouth it searches for speech. our futures still shrouded, we plunge deeper, never knowing where we will resurface and when.

99 beautiful moments: a study

And I will go where the wind blows, even if its just round on circles. I will whistle like the pines when it blows through me. I will quiver when it whips round my limbs. I will foam and crest like the waves when it rides within me, licking the place where the earth meets the sea.

99 beautiful moments: a study

From distant voygages we return to our moorings, the apocolypse dance of the lighthouse behind us. Salt encrusted and sun drenched, our bodies sinewed by sea shores so distant we forgot the language for home. And for the last time we drop anchor. And it rests on the bones of our ancestors. And we remember the celestial beauty lost on functionality. Our hearts no longer seek guidence from the heavens. We are lost no more.

99 beautiful moments: a study

on descent

every wave that crashes must eventually return to the water.

when all is exhaled in that eventual pounding, the truth is formless and enters the abyss.
each foaming crest, each concaved roll, must eventually lick it's descent.

and it is this gesture that erases our footprints, making sand from stone

99 beautiful moments: a study

as the road forks

we emerge unscathed, if a little ruffled
the year drones into long hot days

gratitude shows up at just the right moment,
late at night, drinking whiskey alone.

now all that I have has been divided
some years discarded, some given away

in the echoing undulations of time
each triumph opens onto a vista

cultivating grace in rocky terrains
I am humbled by my gentler kin