when I was young
I took the back arm way home
where the town ended and the forest began
the whole journey protected
by those evergreen trees I shared days with
every step was like a play
knowing the parts by heart, knowing the story to home
running along in places
others stopping for a spell
little legs, lasting time in the in-between moments of my once-life
on the edge of my seat.. bout 6:30
my best behaviour on display
the only way someone else taught me
all the rain had just stopped
as I watched a man walk through beads
that time in the evening
of a September day
is a feeling
a time when thoughts can drift
when sound stays quiet
the road a certain hue of grey
like the sky, maybe one shade away
sometimes I look down and count the patches
kick the broken asphalt
to the dirted sides
where the trees grow
the berries bush
and flowers wild
I look harder at things
appreciate that I am
then
remember someone
think of some time
escape back to a similar place
that time in the evening
I could see into kitchens
and all those moths swarming the post-office lights
hear dogs and guess which one
see cats and watch them go home
smell sawdust and smile
that time in the evening
of a September day
was a feeling
hot enough to split rocks
though, that July’s breeze was nice
so you were serious, London Dock and lemonade
because some dude at the dive bar last night said it was good
became our drink of the summer didn’t it
those days we spent in the dory
barely a word was shared aloud
our language was unique to only us
on the nicest of days that were just for you and me
no sun, grey skies, grey ocean…with a hug of a fog
you had no idea but I loved watching you
in awe…
of my captain
my grandfather, only different
when I did, I felt safe and sound
adventurous…like your first mate
catching our bounty of fish for dear Theresa’s table
it is 4:30…almost 5:00
a feeling of a brand new day
you could tell because the moon is starving for more darkness
after gorging on it since the sun went away
but it’s back now
because
colour is starting, gray and black dissipating
birds sing
dew drips
cats can’t help but stretch
a line of life stretches the morning like a pulled blanket
the night plans to sleep the whole day away
flowers root out of bed hoping for rain or shine
sound surrounds everything like a tantrum
sleep is long gone from my body
I clung hard but my dreams all ran in the opposite direction
ushering me toward awake
to be
up for today
up for tomorrow
what a beautiful day
what a beautiful tomorrow
I’ll take one
I’ll take another
we used to catch grasshoppers on sun kissed Saturday mornings
between that and sliding down the hill on torn up cardboard our day was filled to the brim
laughing and carrying on in the void of time
taking trails and pathways in the forest to places we stored secrets and where monsters dwelled
sometimes, we’d blow kisses at dandelions sending them on journeys to who knows where
while shielding the sun from our brows to see where we should go off to next
my calculator watch blinks half past three, one hour til supper, still time to explore
the fish plant whistle sounds, and we look across the harbour just like the last time we heard it
this time a big boat captures our attention wondering what adventures they’ve had, how high were their seas and were there pirates
a seagull soars high squawking its return, coming back to us for a visit, it was never the same one….but we didn’t care
those days were hot, the ocean was cold, our little boy hearts warm
in the heat of the moment we thought the world stretched forever from the hillside where we perched and one day we would get to see the rest
for now, our world was big enough because our dreams were much much bigger
his wooden narwhal
sits in its place on a shelf
I stare in envy
when flowers turn to me
I greet them with a smile
we sway together
if I’m lucky I get a dance
some are shy, but most adore the attention
they love it when I stop along the way
telling me secrets like they only bloom for me
and growing high toward the sky is a goal from the seed
they love rain…though, not too much
just a quench
bees come over on Sunday and leave with sprinkled gifts
fields are nice when people run through them
trails are cozy when adventurers explore them
gardens are where they flourish
making your heart feel something is where they reach
so they say
when I stop
when flowers turn to me
Ah, mermaids…
I remember being a small boy fighting pirates on the hillside where I played. My friends, my seamen, brave as we sailed the high seas by way of a large stone in the middle of an open field. Arr, she be like the grandest sail a pirate could ever command. We set course in the wind of our imaginations. Three of us slaying and saving mermaids in the hot sun with a mountain backdrop. Our bounty of a summer’s day with the ladies of the ocean made us fight with passion, with heart. We were promised a wet kiss. We told those types of stories. Our own stories because we were kids and that’s where stories start.
Continue reading “A Shade of Ash # 49 – Where Memories Are Mermaid”
Earth To Ash 