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Two ends of the same sky

 

Early morning sun

burning off dew,   shrinking shadows from backyards full of leaves

 

Thin, cool breezes up and down the alley 

air thin enough to make distant sounds audible

every screen door  

 

Late afternoon sun

casting shade from building to sidewalk to street

 

Less natural light means more 

man made colors,

 

porch lights and streetlamps

spreading pools of yellowwhite across the dusk

 

a grain of pigment, a drop of rain
the pattern of the edges of spilled liquid
not anything like the crab nebula

according to your color palette ("green, for the caterpillars")
i pour paint ("orange, like your cheeks... close enough anyway")
slowly onto the canvas ("yellow, for the sky in the morning, reflected")
the immediate realization ("blue, like the night, and the sound of the wind")
this will be nothing ("red, for blood, for the sun when you close your eyes")
like what i imagined ("black, for the great void of space")

hits me like an apple through a screen door
cut into hundreds of tiny columns
delicious shredded fruit
covering everything in the kitchen

not kissing (which grounds me)
nor rolling down hills (which just makes me happy)
you can only make me dizzy if you're spinning me in leaves or snowflakes
or reminding me that in a billion years, the sun will explode
sending atoms of every type out in all directions
somewhere to eventually become

The witching hour at night. I looked out my door of the caravan park donga and the world was veiled in mist. The familiar made unfamiliar, begging to be explored. I stepped out the door wearing my fuzzy bathrobe and ugg boots as armour against the cold and damp. The grass was green and wet in the caravan park lighting. The world lay asleep and a quiet hush abounded.

I went walking. The mist moved ahead of me, allowing only a measured distance of viewing before closing in white to hide the possibilities yet further on. The grass gave way to gravel. The road was ahead, and across the road stretched a paddock, ethereal in the blanket of mist. I crossed the road, and climbed through the fence, chasing the land of the fey behind the mist. I knew I wouldn't reach it, but it beckoned me still. I stood there in the paddock, surrounded by the cool air, kissed by the moonlight, blessed by the otherworldly. Peace and contentment flowed through me.

This moment was mine, to cherish, to live. There was no future, there was no past. Just this moment and the world of other, being both veiled and unveiled by the mist. This world blending into white then blending into darkness, and the other world touching this world yet not part of it. I bade the other world hello, wished it good night, then turned and left it behind me. Once again tucked into bed, warmth slowly returning to my body, I closed my eyes, and slept.

 

 


A memory from 1999 that has stayed with me in the decades since.

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