How redundant are my thoughts when I can't stop thinking about her? You'd better believe she was no ordinary mare. In fact, as a biologist, I have to say there were several things that made me question she even was a mare. A figment of my imagination?
I had an enjoyable walk in the Hollow Shades Nature Reserve and had spent at least an hour trudging uphill. The angle of ascent reminded me of working overtime in the supermarkets. I took pictures here and there so that I may appreciate the vista afterwards. It wasn't sixty-six-hundred degrees and my condition isn't yet so awful. I had brought with me only the most essential supplies, and, that's the one thing I can point to when it comes to the hallucination postulation: Overstimulated sugar high brought about by Chewy Lemon gum.
I parted these low-hanging branches to glance upon a deer of some sort - but why didn't it move upon hearing my approach? I drop my gum. It's not a deer. A mare right out of my unseen dreams with a coat of citrus and mane of both the electric sky and verdant bloom, looking right at me. Hers was the expression of one dedicated to their advent calender, curious what hid behind today's window. It didn't occur to me at the time - what could occur to me other than her shining bluest of sapphire eyes? - but her mane was kempt beyond reason; forest hag she was not. How did she retain that in her years of wonder? Her mark was a single leaf, her tale doubtless one worthy of remaining untold. I could only glimpse certain wanderings in conifer columns, light piercing the canopies in crystal formations of bright yellow. Would she see the earth through them, or even underneath that summer-stained ground, to the very bones and stone and mud and shedded skins and glucose; the worms and fungus and fire of the earth around her? She didn't say hello. The mountains didn't cease to exist. Forest spirit or otherwise.
I picked up my bag. I don't know why I did; or how I even dropped it. I took photographs of the clearing as if she was still there. The sixteen-hundred-some photographs automatically taken precious and yet... what I would give if I had snapped just one with my camera, so I could choose not to share it with anyone. No one move; no one needs to know. I'm coming back there, up past the No Trespassing sign where the rabbits leave their droppings and the birds fear only the creatures far below them. Was this love at first sight, or have I chanced upon something new; something stronger than those speculative whispers beyond the boundaries of our existence? Spirit indeed!
Vegetate on the mattress and the layers of cotton and elastics. Tomorrow is another day. I will pack raisin buns and fill my thermos for another walk. The pendulum swings. The very air pressing in on itself to an endless reverberation of life. It swings my way and equally against it. Stretch. Breathe in and out and close your eyes, dear Yona Fairlove, for you were chosen to be here, just this once, in our cosmic exploration. Cold, cold weather up above our abodes and celestial societies, where existence itself freezes to a dark glow. Swinging pendulum, don't freakishly end me before my journey's end. Swing, oscillate, sway and slide towards our ultimate cave-in of DNA, RNA, and whatever thermal devices slyly burn up this biomatter. Swing on in your curious way, whatever she may be. For I wish to see her again.
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7 years, 7 months ago
15 Sep 2016 23:44 CEST
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