“Do you know," Peter asked, "why swallows build in the eaves of houses? It is to listen to the stories.” ~ J.M. Barrie, Peter Pan

11.23.2014

this water lives in mombasa, anyway, and following the yellow brick road


the roads move like rivers where i live.

it took all day to entice me outside;
when the last of the light began to glow on the bricks i was called.

it was small rain yesterday, from morning to night, and it was small when i stood beneath it; all the best magic is small. there'd been hard news in the morning, news i'd sat with through tv movies and laundry, letting it sink in, shedding no tears.  i stepped into the rain and all that changed.  i began to cry.

road is a thoroughfare, route, or way on land between two places . . .
river is a natural watercourse, usually freshwater,
flowing towards an ocean, a lake, a sea, or another river . . .

we move forward always, even if we turn around. time clicks into the future no matter which way we face.  new places await.  the late mary, she of once upon a time across the street, told me when times were bad, she imagined herself on a river, floating.  face to the sky.  giving herself to the flow.  the river moves anyway, she told me.

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(road and river definitions from wikipedia)

5 comments:

  1. (((hugs)))

    beautifully written, as always.

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  2. I too sat with hard news this weekend (an old school friend had died at 42). My tears came before the rain. Hugs xoxo

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  3. yes, it does, it always does. we float, we change, we hang on for dear life, we float again. xoxo

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  4. Beautiful as usual!

    Have a wonderful Thanksgiving...

    Noodle and crewq

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  5. "all the best magic is small". Neat.

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