Poetry 'n Prose

Short Stories

A bird he was, waking to find himself frozen overnight to an unfamiliar branch. Still, for love and friendship, and because they were yards apart he tried to reach across to the other.

“It’s ok” the other said “I’m still here, waiting for a sign”

As they turned toward the sunrise, the sun turned with them as though looking through windows of their soul. Though for a passer-by it was by all accounts a rare sight of happiness in a world of otherwise happenstance.

The sky then became the seaside town, became the shoreline with the lapping water foaming against the shifting sand and there in between tidal changes was a sign.

But the other had dreams of survival, leavened with a little comfort: a corner to sleep, enough to eat, occassional words of touch leading to tenderness, though his passion she was unaccustomed.

His dreams were modest in all things, though determined was he now in raising hers above his own. Held back by a fear of appearing foolish; of being his own definition of that, though it was this fear that made him worth loving.

“Are you ready yet,” he asked the other, his new found companion “Are you ready to fly or fall?”

Her smile was her only reply as they took flight together on that cold frosty morning somewhere in Middle Earth.

By 67paintings

A dialectical site of poetry, painting and the odd musical excursion into the unknown.

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