Sometimes if you look at a picture long enough, shapes appear. Not intentional, but always a pleasant surprise. Song pairing: Dry – William Elliot Whitmore
Kelda Lund Photography
All around this corner house the windows are closed, curtains drawn shut. I know there is no-one there, but how I long to just knock, be invited in, sit down on a threadbare sofa next to the old lady and her ancient cat to hear all about heartbreaks, heart-aches and perhaps learn a thing or two about love.
The man in the front is engulfed by his newspaper. He is happy for us to walk around, but sorry to say that anything displayed against the walls is not for sale. There are sadly a lot of spectacular things displayed against the walls. It is hard to look down.
These picture perfect roses smell exactly the way I remember them. I fell out of the guava tree in forever slow motion into the cut branches stacked below. Oddly and sublimely coincidental, the man I meet next is the neighbour of the house where this happened. Twenty five years have passed in a mere second.
Happy birthday to you, my love with the electric blue diamond shining so brightly. You are still wearing the piece of string you found on the floor of that decrepid old shop, over many an ocean, filled with far too many bits and bobs. They were only too happy to give it to you for free. Good riddance on their part and a treasure on yours.
I can’t help but wonder if we are all not under the illusion of our mighty existence, when the mountains are but asleep for a thousand years. They are bound to wake up, uncurl into powerful beings from elsewhere. With a stamp of a firm foot in the puddle of an ocean, this tail will slither away, leaving a trail of destruction in its wake.