We saw him as we entered the square, though it seems everyone else was ignoring him.
He was crouched down, using his knife to draw something im the dirt.
He had both sword and arrows, not usual for most warriors.
My friends made comments about the mud on his coat and boots, then continued walking. But I stayed, watching.
Suddenly he lifted his head and looked right at me. With his blade he waved me over.
“Do you know this word?” He pointed to the ground before him.
“It is a name. My name.”
“Then you are who I seek.”
Before you slip into unconsciousness
I’d like to have another kiss
Another flashing chance at bliss
Another kiss, another kiss
I can’t help it, I think of the song whenever I see it.
There’s not a regular schedule to its appearances. No hints as to when it will show. And it has never come close for me to see anyone on board.
It’s usually on calm nights like this. Late at night.
I’ve tried to be casual about asking other people if they’ve seen it. Not so that if they haven’t, they won’t think I’m crazy. But so they won’t go looking for it. Maybe do something to make it stop coming around.
I want to keep it for myself.
The setting sun bathed the beach in a red light that could almost be felt.
The hue surrounded me, coloring my clothes and skin.
By a trick of the mind, the air seemed warmer. Not hot and suffocating, but a warmth that sunk into my bones.
I knew that soon the sun would slide beneath the horizon and this vision would be gone for another day.
I looked around, mourning my lack of talent in paints or picture. But not to share with others.
No, the record would be for those long hours that I was exiled from this world.
As heavy as the rain was, we didn’t see it til the lightning struck. It was a ghostly sheet against the sky. Rain almost enough to fill the canyon below. All the more striking for the blue sky behind it. A turn in any other direction would show a clear sky. It was just in this one spot that the fury was located. I stood and watched the whole show and wondered. Wondered at all beyond my ability to control. To even guess at. The ability to just let go and accept.
The setting sun was at our backs when we first saw the valley.
We could just catch the sound of the waterfall. The wind was swirling around us but our eyes were fixed on the fire of the summit.
That was our goal and, if the stories be true, very possibly our tomb.
We stood there, taking in the moment. We would camp here tonight and make our careful way to the mountain.
It would be a slow process, given the terrain. But a required one. To maybe fulfill a wish.
So that maybe next year, there wouldn’t be sacrifices.
The sky was like a cracked mirror, the rays of the dying sun spreading across it’s surface. In another age it might have been viewed with dread, with beseeches to deities.
But to my eye it is perfect. Perfect for itself, for what it portends.
I smile, wishing I had the talent to capture the sight on a canvas. But I will have to settle for a camera. Sufficient, but cold.
This will not be the last time for such a sight. Once more, at the very last. Before the world tilts just so and is never the same again.
My eyes are always drawn to that patch of sky, thru that one arch.
I have never seen a dark cloud there. The stars shine, the moon just visible to the right.
When I am away from my window, I need only close my eyes to see it again.
I am no artist nor poet to do it justice. So it stays with me alone.
I have lost track of hours spent staring at that view.
Tomorrow I will finally walk thru that arch, toward that patch of sky, as the moon rises.
A fitting portal to the next world.
(Picture taken by a Facebook friend, Steve Odinson, whilst on holiday.)
They paint it as a bad thing. Anger, aggression. And it can be, but like all things it’s a matter of degrees.
Some times it’s the one thing that gets you through a situation, through a life. Being in guard. Leaning less toward ‘hello’ and more to ‘what do you want?’
But you have to know yourself. Spent time by yourself, inside your head. Know your dark, your special brand of crazy.
Know who let pass the barriers. And if a wrong one slips through, how to kick them back out. Hard.
The key? It’s your tool, not your existence.
I passed the sign every day. Sometimes it wouldn’t catch my eye. But at least once a week I would stop to read it.
Some days, I would snort and walk on. Other days I would find myself thinking about it during the day.
Then came the day that I walked by and realized the sign was gone. But for one shred of paper sticking out of the pushpin hole, it might never have been.
For weeks I didn’t realize how much the sign’s absence bothered me.
Not til the day I made my own copy and tacked it up.
I see him, always off to one side. And you can be sure I’m the only one who notices him.
He doesn’t seem to have a preference. Light and dark hair. Men and women. He never leaves alone.
He waits for them to come up to him, never he to them. Just stands there, then you look back to see him walking out with someone.
If you ask them about him, they just smile, a mirror to the one he often wears.
Think I’m going to do the walking up tonight. See what that smile’s all about.
Wish me luck.
(Not my usual cause I resisted my obvious to make him a serial killer.)