One Day I’ll Fly Away. Photo by Hayley Roberts. For The Sunday Muse Prompt #66. \\\* Waiting here before this wall of burnt brick reaching high above my head freedom seems distant a mirage shimmering in the distance; promised. Hope deferred makes sick the longing heart, but in this sliver of breaking light, the echo of the promise rings, one day I’ll spread my wings and fly away.
For The Sunday Muse prompt #63. Image: the butterfly jar by lostinthisphotograph \\\* The beauty of these golden wings wrestled free, breath by breath, from the confines of a cocoon, finds itself entombed again, the memory of its flitting flight a distant echo now far removed from the frozen present, a life stilled.
For The Sunday Muse Prompt, #61. Photo Artistry by Erik Johansson Master Photo-manipulation Artist. \\\* Slat by slat, dab by dab this dream in grey is being remade into a sea of blue, its quiescent skin stretched tight like a canvas between the present and the past where the sky meets the earth’s lie. Each slat was once alive, each cell once bursting with the pressure of rich water, drawn by breathing; air and sunlight entwined in a dance whose beat is borne in the body, from seed to fruit to seed by rebirthing. Now this dream of grey, frozen still, is reawakening each dab of colour returning life to where it once was.
For The Sunday Muse, Prompt #60. In which I wonder what the reality of what a cat feels is. \\\* What if what we are Are mere playthings, pawns roughly hewn from stunted dogwood, clinging to life in a season of dearth. What if the feeling of contentment is a mirage, a vision of delusion far removed from the way things really are. What if what we think is the beauty of a garland really is a chain binding us to a different reality, what if.
Photo by Thanun Buranapong on Unsplash \\\* Bar a few days here and there it has been, as we say out here, dingin doon; read wet, cold and windy, emphasis on the wet part. That is is mid-June adds to the slight sense of gloominess that comes with it, a mood which I see replicated in the faces of the people I run into about town, in my view at least. All of that has left me with quite a lot more time on my hands than usual, which for better or for worse has ended up exploring various reddit rabbit holes, chief of which have been the Thinkpad, ChromeOS and SurfaceLinux ones. They have provided the welcome of distraction of providing the inspiration for me trying to replace Windows on my old Thinkpad Tablet 10 with either Linux or ChromeOS. Both have been qualified fails - a debloated version of windows currently serves me passably on the device -but the ultimate goal would be to replace it with something zipper and functional, à la this attempt. I suspect the search will continue, albeit at a hopefully less time intensive pace. In between all of this, I managed to fit in some time out with the guys from work, a decent enough evening the only black mark against it being the aforementioned bucket loads of rain. ...
For The Sunday Muse prompt #59, Photography by Carlo Pautasso. \\\* Plucked by its roots from a place where it once was whole, it lies now alone, the brightness of its petals a splash of hope stark against the blandness of everything. The shadow of an impending end stretches from the future into this space between The Living and the bleeding out of life but till it comes, life lingers still.
Freedom, for The Sunday Muse Prompt #56. \\\* It hovers in the distance in the space where the edge of consciousness meets the taste of remembering. Where air meets skin, and the sound of living is squeezed into a high pitched wail and then regains length, and afterwards dies as they recede into the distance. Each bump on the road, is like a firm word tossed into the wind, each jar as like a current shared between melded parts. From the distance joy, delirious in its appearance calls but here in the lull before the storm lies a fleeting pleasure, a moment of peace before the whirlwinds return
For The Sunday Wednesday Muse Prompt, Garden Spot. Photo by Annie Spratt on Unsplash. A nod to the still vivid memories I have of being dragged off to our family farm by my parents in those dire, dark SAP days. ** First comes the rain, and then the wakened worms which turn the hard, sun-baked soil into compliant mulch. Grain by grain, leaf by leaf the beauty of Symbiosis begins to rear its head, the cycle of death begetting life and sustenance for the things we must ingest, for which with backs bent beneath the blazing sun we labour; the reward of another day survived eked out from the hard, earth.
For The Sunday Muse prompt, Night Sky \\\* The starlight sprinkled like tiny slivers of silver splashed against a dark canvas peels back the curtain on a tumultuous past- birth, death, dust clouds swirling, mists of primordial molecules accreting, then Becoming - a message to the future from the past echoing down the aeons like a strummed string. I was here before you were; before your father was, and his father’s father too Now you see me as I was. Ponder.
Photo by Josiel Miranda from Pexels, for The Sunday Muse prompt #53 \\\* You have wandered through the wilds, labouring in the shadows of seven hills through caverns carved by seven rivers to a far place, a distant country. Hurtful words tossed into the wind hang like a broken shroud flapping in the wind, heavy with intention, a reminder of the way things were but now are not. But as you linger on the edge of the sea wondering if you have wandered too far this time I see you and call your name. Come Home.