There he is, unkempt and bold.
Bitter tastes dissolve in the memory,
hours inflict themselves to the past.
Nevertheless, he prevails, might last.

There he is, tender and old.
His breaths can now still be heard,
persisting in the corner of the eye.
Senses can no longer be defined sly.

There he is, treasured and cold.
He then coexists with reason and pride,
taking close refuge in wounds and doubt.
If only wonderings could cease to shout.

There he is, will he not go?
Stay for the best, pray, not for the worst,
not in a lovely story for the wind to blow.
There is much in life eventually to know.


Letting go

Taking advantage of my insomnious mind that is spreading its state to my eyes, here it goes… Some hours ago, in a fine afternoon of those ones who invite for a walk, I ended up in front of the house of my long ago neighbor, my friend. One of those friends you don’t see often, but every time you get together it seems like not much time has passed after all.

It was a short visit, a talk of usual and not so usual subjects, surrounded by the falling paint in the concrete stairs outside, and the wild growing grass beside them. Among what we talked, a short story I bring forth…

Summer was approaching in places not so far north of the equator. Days were getting dryer, rains were starting to stop; but Winter was having a hard time letting go.

Fight scenes were woven. Water would fall from the sky in the middle of sunny warm days. Birds would noisily protest the constant struggle, while following the path to their far, wet, heated new stage. Temperatures would rise and fall at chance’s will. Winds would blow, whispering, announcing their time had come.

Winter glimpsed at blooming flowers, filled dams, singing birds, growing trees… cared for them so much! They all grew from seeds, from bits, from dreams, to something Winter hadn’t known before, a materialized feeling that was both part of him and not. How could he go? Back in may he had come; so soon weeks had come and gone. Winter wanted to be there for their sunset and dawn; but then again, there were the saturated soils…

Tired, defeated, but with remaining hope, Winter decided to finally let go. As a new season, he would be reborn.

Luna, lunita

Once again, there she was. Luna was sitting high above the sea level, wearing her endless diamond adorned black cape. Intrigued she was by the horizon that keeps moving further and further away from anyone that wants to reach him. In him, in her, she thought… so close together in the birth of night, but yet so far.

She knew her story telling would sound like it belonged in a Dr. Seuss’ book, but this was the only way the story could be told. From her last absence, she gained: a rested bright face, an achieved goal, an empty paper bag of chocolate cookies (that she would of course recycle), a reborn hope, a couple of banded wounds (nothing too serious), a day by day growing apple tree to admire, and a billion new thoughts inside her claiming to go out.

She remembered the times not long ago, it’s all so relative, when she used to orbit Earth, around him and mainly about him; while Earth was all about the Sun, ellipsing around it… Millenniums of relative anguish for Luna went by that way, with Earth not noticing that the light coming trough Luna at night was coming from his loved and always craved Sun.

Earth had constantly changed… His face was Pangea; then Laurasia and Gondwana; then Africa, America, Asia, Europe and Oceania. But Luna’s love remained the same, different but unchanged.

Her absence was not long, only what it took to change from a full face to a crescent shape… but so many things were altered in nature, meaning and understanding. Who knows better, does better.

Earth, do not thou see? Seas, owls, reborn dawns and dreams… All part of thee, sharing their life with me. Do not I see? Bears, rivers, thoughts, dunes, dolphins and trees…

Luna saw in her craters a discovered truth. It was not Earth whom she loved, it was not. She loved everything represented by Earth, everything that was allowed to live and flourish and grow and to be through him. And there was something else she could now see… the gravitational attraction didn’t affect only her; yes, the tides had told her with their rhythmical dance, Earth also loved her… without realizing it in the past, without caring in the present, without certainties in the future.

She finally accepted it with a smile across her face… Earth was just like his horizon. And the intrigue disappeared.




Writer’s notes:

  • My sources say ellipsing is not a word, but I propose it for the english language. Think about it, it’s like circling, but… ellipsing.
  • I love reading Dr. Seuss. I’m definitely one obsolete child.