zird is the word (lizardek) wrote,
zird is the word
lizardek

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I'M REVIVED EACH TIME YOU CALL MY NAME

The fields roll around the hills, exposing themselves, golden remnants of grain lying puckered in plowed rows. The willow trees stand rustling in single file along ridges and country roads, like brooms thrust shaft down, their leaf-stripped switches reaching to the gray sky. Manic flocks of seagulls swirl, descend, rise flapping in loud arguments behind a tractor. They know an easy lunch when they see one: 2-for-1 takeout special at the worm café. There's a swirl of pale light between two clouds; I know you're up there, sun! A line of migrating geese just stitched its way across my window. At night, Orion lounges, propped up on one elbow, a shooting star between his teeth.

Sometimes I imagine that the connections between myself and other people are invisible strands of light. If you could see them, they'd be glowing in various intensities depending on how deep or how close the connections are. The strands between myself and Anders and my children and my family, for example, are shining thick ropes that dazzle and gleam. Sparkling twists of light pull back and forth between my friends and me. Old threads unravel and fray, connections to friends long-lost or sparking out. Some have a glowing ember deep within them even if they seem not to shine so much on the surface. There is a silvery web of lace all over the globe, from me to you.

Do you know, I'm ready for snow. I've been hearing reports of it from various places and thinking "oh my, already?" but snow would be nice. It would be so much nicer than rain. A snow cocoon, that's what I need. Someplace where I can hole up, wrapped in a blanket of shimmering pluff, and emerge in the spring renewed.

Really Great Writing Out There: Work in Progress
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