Aperture

There was a lot she left behind when she stepped off the plane.

More than just America, or work, or normalcy. She left behind the past, the chains that had tried to hold her down.

She stepped off the plane, met by heat, met by a home she had forgotten.

And as she stepped into the land she had long been waiting to return to, she knew in that moment that she was home.

A lens opened to accept the light of the world.

A heart opened to accept the light of the world.

And she knew again, she was home.

Home amidst the hearts of those she had loved before and had continued to love, despite the miles.

So she set to the work before her.

Capture the light. The light of the sun. The light in their eyes.

The light she didn't expect to find, though, was that which was reflected in the eyes of those she saw.

For in their eyes, her own light was reflected. The light she often ignored or forgot.

She sought the light in the eyes of others.

And discovered that the same light lived in her.

An Anemologist by Nature of Listening

A Noiseless Patient Spider by Walt Whitman, released 1891
Fog by Radiohead, released 2003


Stinson, 1971

       Fog lifted off the waves, drifted the few feet and commingled with the steam rising from her mug. The waves licked at heels and the sun nipped at closed eyes, tempting them to reopen. But a moment longer, that’s what she needed. A moment longer in memory. It was the seagull that brought her back, pulled her from the recesses and asked that she rejoin today. Seagulls have a very poor knack for identifying melancholy.

       The seascape appeared once again before her, inescapable. The gull nipped at her heels this time, bold for one so small. But for all its inability to identify a sad soul, it did know a friendly one. The gull scuttled back as she leaned down, pulling a handful of bread from her left pocket. As the gull ate she watched and pulled a handful of parchment from her right pocket.

       Crisscrossed in the sand she wrote on the paper. The seagull ate. And they were this way for some time. I don’t remember who finished first, the gull or the girl, but at some point they both rose. The gull moved on to find other friendly souls and the girl walked to the waves.

       The first paper that she placed on the face of the ocean didn’t melt away immediately as one might expect. It held its integrity for a few eye blinks before being taken in. Heavy paper stock, perhaps. A few eye blinks. Then she placed the second, then the third and more. Each lasted a few eye blinks. The ink stained paper held for a moment then took its words into the depths. I can’t tell you what was written on each sheet. But it might not be the words that matter, but the action of writing and releasing them.

       “Filament, filament, filament”, as he said.

       Soon all the written pages had been gifted to the waves. So she sat, silent as she had been in placing each sheet, but perhaps in a different silence. Not the silence of remembrance, no, something else. More the silence of the present. The silence that surrounds the waves, the trees, the mountains, the valleys, and all between. The noiseless force that moves boats, forms valleys and lifts hearts. She sat in this silence and nothing else. She sat with this silence for years. Listening to it, knowing it, loving it.

       And so she learned to catch the wind.

He Held It All Within

He held it all within

The expanse of the cosmos
The gaze of the deer
The crash of the waves

He held these moments

The tears for a woman
The love for a woman
The affection for a woman

He held eternity

The movement of the sea
The heartbeat of the trees
The stillness of the sky

He held it all within

The pain of then
The confusion of now
The hope of tomorrow

He held it all and asked,

“Am I allowed to live?”

Fives Years and Another Day

i’ve often wondered
why has Life chosen
to give me the people
it has

is it my
Choice

or is it simply
Life

"what if all the things i've done
were just attempts at earning Love
cause the hole inside my heart is
stupid deep"

jon bellion said that
that was my “break up song”
i think i was just trying to decide
Life or Choice

now i wonder it again
but in a far different context
one i didn’t expect i’d ever know again
the First person

it seems rude to attribute
numbers but First has to mean
something
right

First a love

broken by my young dumb hands
Seconds a love
broken by other young dumb hands

and now after 5 years
another day to think
of the First
of Life or Choice

i still have dumbs hands
they simply have more hair
more scars
more tears on them

Life
Choice
i’m not sure which it is
that brought me here

i do think Love
regardless of the result
is more than emotion
or a feeling

not to say i believe in the one
but i find Love to be significant
and if i can
i’d like to not squander it

i don’t ask for promise
or trust
or much of anything
really

friendship would be nice

Owl

A rectangle of light shone, illustrating the infinite negative space surrounding it.
It was a end-of-the-tunnel or baby-opening-it's-eyes-for-the-first-time kind of light.
It was luminous and purely unique, because well, everything else was dark.

It was blinding to me.

I had seen this rectangle many times, though it seemed indistinguishable from the darkness back then.
Eventually there was a soft, pulsing glow that began to reverberate through its frame.
A glow that grew over years of slow movement.

My wide eyes peered through the window.

The man inside the windowed light was sitting, metal keys tapping beneath his moving fingers.
A woman appeared from I know not where. She watched the focused man.
He turned and laid paper in her hands. Her eyes raced and then she smiled.

I wondered at the two.

The light grew in its luminosity and the woman appeared again.
She sat. Then shook. Her face reflected the light with its dampness.
But the light didn't fade. The man entered and hugged her. The light didn't fade.

By now I was captivated by the interplay of these creatures.

I noted the steady glow. They both came into view.
They were conversing it seemed. He stared at her, her at him.
His face streached forward and they connected. The light exploded.

My wide eyes blinked quickly in swift adjustment to the light.

The light began to gain quality and clarity and shape.
It curled, weaved, pulsed, billowed, flamed, blinded.
Then the man rested a knee on the ground and spoke.

It is difficult for even one with so keen an eye for light as myself to describe how the light changed next.

Pine & Lights

Through the rear view mirror he watched the exhaust, vivid against the dark night, rise into the air. He turned the keys to the left and the machine fell asleep. The silence of the very early morning became absolute. He sat until the heat had left the vehicle and he could see his own breath before him.

He tried to start thinking, to get his brain to move to make him unbuckle his seat belt, to crawl out of the car and into the house. But his face simply contorted and tears began leaking from his eyes. He reached down to fight the seat belt off him but he couldn't see with his eyes awash with liquid. Great heaving sobs began to set in as he began to internally yell at himself for crying and demanding that his body pull it together and stop being tired. The man's hands gripped the steering wheel and his knuckles grew white from the strain. He leaned his head forward and gasped. The car's horn sounded as his head bumped the steering wheel. The man jolted up right. The crying immediately stopped. Within seconds he was out of the car listened for any peep from the house. He quickly pulled his carabiner from his belt loop and unlocked the door noiselessly. He stepped onto the hardwood floor again listening for any noises from up stairs. No sound. The man sighed.

There was no need to turn any lights on inside the house. Every wall was covered with strings of lights, all which were constantly on. And of course they would be on tonight of all nights. The man sat on the worn couch and placing his satchel on the ground as he did. His hands found the blanket on the couch and he curled up looking sideways at the living room's masterpiece. It was this bright shining marriage of light and nature. It was perfect.

His view of the tree grew smaller and smaller as his lids fell lower and lower. As his mind began to work again he thought about everything that had to be done. He still hadn't finished wrapping everything. He needed to go out and buy food for tomorrow. But he wanted it to be perfect, to be special. But he knew he was going to be tired and couldn't give all that he wanted to and hated that. And it all began to pile on again.

He breathed.

I just need to sleep.
Just sleep.









*Thud*
*Thud*
*Thud*
*Thud*

The man opened his eyes just in time to see two children mid flight. He responded as quickly as he could, catching the girl in his arms and allowing the boy to slam into his abdomen.

"Daddy! You're home!"
"Why are you on the couch?"
"Were you trying to catch Santa?"
"We were going to stay up to see if we could catch him."
She whispered into his ear, "Mom said we had to sleep though. But we still tried to stay up."
"Yeah, but we fell asleep. We'll see him next year though."

The man blinked the blurriness in his eyes away and looked at the children on top of him. He smiled. His eyes smiled too.

"Well mom was smart to tell you to sleep, but she had me sleep out here so that I could keep an eye on Santa and make sure he got you the right presents."

The girl and boy squealed when he said "presents".

The boy and girl jumped off his lap and began looking at all the presents around the tree. The man looked over and noticed several presents with "From Dad" written on them. He smiled a soft smile.

He pulled himself off the couch and walked into the kitchen as the kids still guessed at the contents of the packages. He put on the kettle and turned the coffee grinder on. He opened up the fridge and saw that it was stock full of all the preparations for a delicious feast. He smiled softly again.

With two mugs in his hands he walked back into the living room then up the stairs. The boy was shoving his arms into the tree trying to fish out the green army men he had hidden in there previously.

The man opened up the bed room door and placed the mugs of coffee on the bedside table. He nudged the woman. She rolled over, eyes squinting.

"Babe. I thought we were going to wait 'til 7."

The man leaned over and kissed her.

"Oh, wow. Good morning."
"Good morning darling. The kids are already up and ready to go, but I've got coffee."
"Mmmmmm."

The woman pulled herself upright and reached for her coffee.
The man stared at her as she sipped her drink.

"What?"
"I love you."
"I love you too."
"Merry Christmas."

She smiled.

"Merry Christmas."

Un Cœur Tranquille

Grey and brown ruffled upwards as the wind had it's way with his hair.

Hands supporting a cup of steeping leaves.

Breath slow- steady- calm.

Feet burrowed into the sand in search of warmth.

Chair, a long wood plank that had spent it's life drifting among the waves.

Peace in this life.

She appeared around the bend, wrapped in fog and mist. His eyes rested upon her moving frame as she trekked nearer. From tad pools with sea anemones, trees with high branches, and cliffs with gapping drops she came.

His gaze shifted for a moment as a seagull inched closer to his log intrigued by the prospect of food.

Empty-handed the boy gave the bird what he had: conversation.

"Good evening, friend. How's the wind been up there? I'm sorry I was so thoughtless not to bring a snack to share with you. I hope this doesn't bode poorly for me in your eyes."

The bird's eyes just rested on the strange boy as he continued.

"I don't know if you'd like tea, but you're welcome to it. I was thinking to share it with that girl who's coming nearer, but I'd be pleased if you tried some."

No movement, it simply watched him speak.

"Well, alright. She doesn't always want tea either. I suppose I've more a liking to it than some. That's alright though, we all have our preferences. She, for example, likes... Oh!"

The bird alighted at that moment.

The boy turned and realized the girl had walked right up while he'd been talking.

"Hey."

"Hey."

"How's that seagull doing?"

"Fine. He didn't fancy a sip of tea, though. Would you like some?"

"No, I'm fine. Thanks dear."

"Of course."

She sat.

And they continued to sit, silently, looking at the sea.