Feelings. Sensations.
In my mind, thoughts and feelings--a loved one lost, but I know he's simply gone somewhere else. If I were convinced his very being was finished, my feelings would be completely different. Even so, there's a goodbye for now.
A soft day--mild sunshine, hugs, a kindred spirit. Reconnecting briefly with an old friend whose spirit is so kind, so comforting.
For a moment the sunshine intensifies to a tangible gold, before clouds soften the light to a purple. A fly spins on the window sill, the cockatiels in the cage make a general nonverbal clatter.
I feel something so serenely beautiful, I want to describe it, but I don't know what it is. It's the young leaves on the tree out the window with subtle blue and pink sky beyond. It's the stillness of the evening. It's the silence of the house, it's that last magenta sun ray blazing again. The paneled study door that stands open is not brown right now but lavender, magenta, black. This sunset is like a conversation, softening and brightening in still more vibrant beams.
I held his hand and read to him a few weeks ago. It was as though I grounded a current that ran in my veins, as I learned what a very old man's hand feels like, and it's not terrifying.
Could it could rain without actually raining? Or a cello serenade in gentleness without one edge to the tone, nothing to rasp in your ears?
A voice that is a gathering of tones, not a pitch.
Senses. Ever lie on the earth looking down at the stars, an endless fall below from which you're held by this glue called gravity?
How beautiful. Adoration and homage to the Maker.
You. Are a poet.
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