Taken during a hike last year near Komatsu. |
And this is different again. I heard about this FlashMob thing, read the posting, and then didn't think about it again. I have lots of friends who do this, but not me. (See above.) Then on my run this morning this story popped into my head. I muttered it to myself while I sprinted (a relative terms) most of the way home so I could write it down. My new mantra is always carry a notebook and pen. You just never know.
Tomorrow, back to the usual stuff.
-Joan
Fallen
This was probably bad. How long had she been lying here? She could feel the grass under her. Usually she only spread her toes on it, but never had she been supine. She'd imagined it, of course, but never had the chance. "Lucky me," she thought.
She
didn't need to open her eyes to know the last storm clouds scudded
away chased by sun and a now friendly breeze. She could feel it on
her skin, hear the softer wind in the nearby trees.
She
remembered a crack, a gust of wind unlike any she'd felt before.
The driving, driving rain. The tire swing a pendulum gone mad. She
hated storms. Always had. As a child she'd dreaded the gray that
turned to slate, tumbled and roiled. Sometimes it went green, nothing
like the shimmery leaves of a nearby poplar. She watched big trees
bend and toss with bravado. She tried thinking of wind and rain as
friends, character builders that watered the earth, pollinated
flowers, blah, blah. Fifty-eight years later she still hated them.
Tentatively,
she felt along her limbs. Some pain, a twist. The greater pain seemed
to be in her middle. "It's internal," she thought.
She
could hear sounds from the house. She recalled seeing all the lights
go out at once. Flash. Crack. Black.
"OK,
open your eyes," she said. "You've got to know." Lids
crusty with dried rain, dirt and a few bugs lifted. There, above her,
against the blue sky, stood her other half. A long rip down the
center matching her pain. The white and gold wood catching the light.
"Beautiful," she thought as she heard the slam of the back
door, a squirrel leaping among her branches up there.
Comments
Beautiful piece, quite sensuous.
-taree Belardes, Flashmob,USA