Jan 21st – Reflections in the water completed the circle

January 23^rd – Reflections in the water completed the circle

09.05-09.15

Days were lengthening now: the sun

made an appearance for an hour

or two, minutes longer as the year turned

the earth around. It was not the sun

she had come for: the sun was a break;

time to adjust. The ground was hard

under her feet: an ice crust cracking

as she shifted. The air was bitter.

She was dressed for it: layers over layers over

layers, but for now her hands were bare,

gloves strung from elastic loops, hanging.

Evening had fallen. Hard. She had waited

days for the clouds to part, for the snow

to stop falling. Her breath spelled out her name.

The moon was new. Barely enough light

to pick out the snowcaps fringing the lake.

Hot springs kept it ice-clear; just a frosting

on the shore, entombing the reeds,

holding them in sway. She waited. Everything

was ready. She crouched, checked, widened

the lens until it swallowed the sky. Framing

was everything. She slid her hands back

into the welcoming thickness of the gloves,

built for this. She squeezed life back

into her fingers, stretching each joint, flexing.

Still she waited. The stars swam

into focus, pinpricks of light sharpening

into familiar shapes, constellations of stories.

The Milky Way splashed its path across

the arc of the sky. Nothing moved. Silence.

Then, movement. A stirring: she stirred,

slipping her hands out again, crouching,

eye to the body, hands on the lens,

focussed. She focussed. And the sky danced.

The sky danced green. That was the only way

she could describe it, later: it danced

to the music of itself, and the aurora played

with shape and form, becoming and unbecoming.

Tangible and not. She clicked the shutter,

only half aware of what she was seeing,

the snow around her bouncing back

unearthly colours. And then, amongst the joy

of everything, what she had only dreamed of:

an arch, auroral form for a moment becoming

describable, bridging the still blackness

of the lake. She adjusted the lens, exposed

the workings to time. Pressed the shutter and

held her breath. It was perfect. Reflected

in the mirror dark, the circle was complete.

 

 

Inspired by a prompt from here

The Recording was all the Proof They Needed – Dead Deer

The Recording was all the Proof They Needed

The old black disk lay unloved and unseen at the back of a cupboard. In front of it an old food processor had been gathering dust, and mould, for years, parts missing, the wrong plug. So much junk shoved unceremoniously in here, so much. The doors pushed shut. The sideboard itself (or is it a ‘dresser’?) barely holding itself together, the upper part at an alarming angle, teetering, surely about to drop.

The broken windows let the brisk winds inside, there is an autumnal storm brewing. From outside the entire house appears unkempt, unloved. No one can have lived here for decades. Yet, as they pass, what can they hear?

Music. The unmistakable disco sounds of Murray Head; someone is in the house, someone is there listening to Jesus Christ Superstar this very October morning, in the early part of the twenty-first century. There must be hope.

 

 

Today I wrote from 07:53:to 08:03. I was prompted by the idea   here. My other writings here. All my prompted writing here, and my tweets here