The Birds...1

Celeste fought the chilly push of the wind the same way she fought everything- with a quiet stoicism that belied the actual effort behind action. Like everything in life, she tried to five what she took, push for push, tug for tug, pain for pain. And there was a lot of Pain. She spent her life in it, swam in it, was drowning in it; and so despite the Advent of pain that was sure to follow, Celeste would do what she always did. Celeste would fight.




Michael was behind her, as he always seemed to be- struggling through the back draft as she pushed on alone, taking on the full force of life alone. Angrily, she shook her head trying to dislodge the bitterness that sired such thoughts and failing miserably.

The wind cut like a knife and Celeste lifted her head in defiance, welcoming a pain and cold that could be felt on the outside instead of the biting chill that seemed to encompass more and more of her soul with each passing day. Again her thoughts turned to Michael- pushing on behind her, yes, but there and ready to catch her if she fell. Except he could not catch her this time, and that, in essence, was the problem, the cause of the pain, the root of the bitterness- the source of the internal frost.



All around her the world was bathed in the physical manifestation of her internal climate. Snow fell soft, silent, and sad, blanketing the landscape- chilling it, forming a cold hard shell for protection. The whole world lay, breath bated, in anticipation of the end. From farther up the track, a lone sparrow gave its last cry, a dead goose lay face down and broken on the edge of the frozen lake, above a chorus of blackbirds made confused mournful circles in the icy clouds, an idiot robin stood watching serenely awaiting its own death as its tiny feet froze solid to the branch beneath it.



The birds are all dying....

CityWitch #3

City Witch #2

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CityWitch #1

Tears and Water

There is nothing left, she thinks as she slides into the tub. The warm water caresses her skin, softly, gently – tiny waves flowing over her as his fingers never would again. Her brown eyes cloud, blurring the shapes…colors…life they had built together. Tears run down her face, over the curve of her breast, and disappear into clear waters-almost as though they had never existed.

In the silence of the bathroom, the emptiness of her soul echoes loudly. She imagines trailing the gleaming edge of a razor over the delicate skin of her wrist, her blood staining the porcelain in ruby rings, and slowly sliding from depression, to euphoria, and then…peace.

She revels in the idea of an end to pain that 15 aspirin, 2 joints, and a bottle of vodka could not assuage. She craves an end to it, this pain she sees buried in the depths of her soul, this pain she would trade life to end. She looks back at the life they shared; the house, the children, the joy, and these tears- tears so numerous they could fill the tub.

She envisions the face of the man she has loved; he shines in her mind like a knight in armor racing to protect her. Her hand stretches forward; this image, this man, so tangible she feels she could almost touch him. She reaches for him, her hand sliding ever closer and finally past, into the depths of the tub…

She pulls the plug.

Grass

There is almost no grass where I work- the company pays for meticulous landscaping, perfectly trimmed bushes, creeping plants to cover freshly laid mulch, and mature trees to dot parking endcaps like exclamation points. Every inch is manicured, and cared for, and artificial. The only real thing is this small stretch of grass, forgotten, and used merely to separate one parking lot from another.

It’s lonely and loud and beautiful on this small stretch of grass where the wind plays in my hair, the sun kisses my face, and tiny blades tickle my toes. It is a world apart from that sterile inside place where keyboards click and the sounds of polite conversation can be heard from every corner.

Out here I watch the gentle roll of clouds as they pass by; inside the only thing to watch is the constant countdown of the computer clock. You become desperate or die, everyday you lose another piece of your soul to the sterile sanity of the system, everyday you conformity becomes more complete- unless you find your stretch of grass….and take root.