Jan 21, 2016 Uncategorized
Walking in the woods in the gathering gloaming late today afternoon, Holly and I were the only souls there … or so we thought.
As we reached the far end of the trail, before turning back, Holly, who had been bounding about happily, became still and looked away, as if listening to something. I felt a distinct sense that I should put her back on the leash, and did so.
And then, just ahead of us, perhaps twenty feet away, we saw a whole herd, nay, fleet of deer, silently leaping across the trail, and onto the snow-covered crags … one after another, they leapt, and turned and waited for each other, before melting away into the sides of the hill on our left. Holly was transfixed. So was I.
There was a three-quarter moon, which shone like melted butter on a silver plate. I love the darkness, I love the woods, I love being alive. On the way back, I sang at the top of my voice, and the trees and rocks echoed the sound, and my voice reminded me that I had, have, a body.
I missed my family (my husband and daughter were off with some home-school friends of hers — they have cats, and I cannot be there for any length of time before I get allergic), and yet … I really, really like solitude, too.
I had better watch out, or I’ll turn into a hermit.
Jan 21, 2016 Original Poetry
All photographs©Vijaya Sundaram, 2015-2016
Change, Please
©January 22nd, 2016
By Vijaya Sundaram
I wonder about trees.
When I consider my life —
So short, so filled with futile
Railing against this and that,
Filled with pride and fall,
Gain and loss,
Wasted effort, and just waste,
I wonder about them.
When I sojourn in the woods,
And gaze about at all the trees
And the quiet, good life
They lead in shadow and sun
I whisper a blessing,
And sing to them.
So fixed, so full of change,
So clamorous, so quiet
So full of conversation,
They creak and groan,
And rustle, and grunt,
And moan and sigh
And break and bend,
And ache and crack,
And are rent asunder by
Cold so bitter, it hurts
To think on it.
I see them, gnarled
And full of exuberance,
Filled with sunlight,
Born of carbon.
Gods they are —
Not in a fairy tale story,
But right before us.
Tall and rooted and
Full of forgiveness.
Full of secrets, full of knowledge,
They speak with each other
Roots entwined, giving strength
To each other, to the ground,
And the fungi on the mossy earth
Carry their message of life far
Along unseen and seen trails.
With their breath, they gift us
Air and rain and wind.
With their secret seeds,
With their forbidden fruit,
With their singing leaves,
And their clutching branches,
With their purple shade
And their hidden places
Where life might grow,
Or come home to die,
They signal Love.
They change us.
And they die, and are born again,
And die again, and are born again.
And … thus,
They are our true gods.
Love them.
Kneel before them.
And before it’s too late,
Change.
Please.
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Tags: #Life, #Original Poetry by Vijaya Sundaram, #Trees, Woods
Jan 21, 2016 Friday Fictioneers, Uncategorized
Piano, Piano
©January 21st, 2016
By Vijaya Sundaram
Word Count: 100 words of text, exactly
Genre: Magic Realist Heartbreak Tale
Softly, you stole her heart, and drowned it.
You spoke of dreams, played songs, and promised … nothing.
Stepping unsuspectingly in the wake of your beauty, your tightly-lidded passion, she was swept away.
And as she gasped for air, waving frantically, her hair was grabbed by seaweeds. Little fish nibbled at her feet. Twisting to look for you, she saw nobody.
Her clothes caught on spikes and coral, as she descended, coming to rest softly on a drowned piano, an ancient thing.
Her hands moved.
Undersea music rippled. A song bubbled to the surface like a sob.
Humming, you sailed on.
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Thanks to Rochelle Wisoff-Fields for being our beautiful Fairy Blog-Mother and warm, gracious host of Friday Fictioneers, and to her husband, Jan W. Fields, for that intriguing photograph!
Tags: magic realist short story, Original 100-word short story based on a photo-prompt