Saturday, March 26, 2016

Salvage and Waste

There aren't many days like this lately of staying in bed too long listening to silence, an occasional passing car, a fleeting bird call. But anxiety about waste, passing time, massing debt, and no particular direction creeps in before there is time enough to notice you have some time to yourself.

Let your soul heal, one voice says.
Get off your ass, says another.

Some of the things she gave you early on, you didn't return.

The shepherd's hook and platform feeder, empty and deserted now, hold memories of the color, life, and magic she brought into this empty place. She said you'd lost your brilliance. You said, I'm almost dead.

The solar powered daisy with the butterflies for hands moves happily when the sunlight reaches it. It's one of the first things she gave you. She placed it on the window sill without explanation. It was medicinal, and its effect was immediate. When it starts to move, it looks just like her, light and free. You wish you helped her stay there.

And the chimes - the sound of them is what love felt like between you. It was a beautiful dream. A great gift. How can you be sorry now?

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