Gaslights flickered, revealing the raindrop-slicked, uneven cobblestones of the darkening Geneva street. Quickening her pace, an uneasy sense of foreboding seeped over her, like a drop of red wine on a white cloth; wetting, inexorably spreading, slowly penetrating the pristine fabric.
The solitary sound of her clicking heels in the cavernous alleyway only served to heighten her overactive imagination. She wistfully recalled her afternoon excursion to the countryside outside of Bern, where lambs grazed peacefully on rolling hills of green, as if fulfilling their destiny. It was the epitome of a purposeful life, the balance of ‘Nature’; incomprehensibly complex and yet beautifully serene.
As if on a treadmill, she paced her strides and her breath to “The Messiah” chorus running through her head, and ascended the steps leading to the steep, ‘Cathedral’ hill:
(Breathe in) “All we like sheep, all we like sheep… (Breathe out) …All we like sheep, have gone astray…”
The rhythmic, incessant, subconscious breath control technique, not only got her through her workouts at the gym, but also helped her focus, physically and mentally, on something other than the task at hand.
Eerily, her music was interrupted, replaced by haunting, melodic strains that permeated her psyche. It was a simple motif, played on an oboe; a tune with which she was intimately familiar, though she could not recall having heard it before. She only knew, intuitively, that it was written for her and now it was calling to her.
There it was again!
She stopped and turned abruptly. The weathered, ancient portal creaked ajar, as strains of the oboe sonata grew louder and more compelling. As if hypnotized, inextricably drawn closer to the source of the music, she crossed the threshold leading to the interior courtyard. She rationalized that, surely, it was a struggling musician, studiously practicing in a nearly atelier.
The sun had set long ago, and the moonless sky was ebony black; and yet here in this hidden space, she was bathed in spectral light and surreal song. Allowing the light and the music to wash over her, all attempts at rational thought ceased; replaced by calm acceptance of that which she didn’t yet understand.
…
It was with a sigh of exasperation tinged with relief, that he hastily swiped to answer her call when he saw her face pop up :
“I’ve been worried sick – where are you? Hello? Hello? Jeanne, are you there?
Jeanne!”
As if alive, the phone leapt from his hand and clattered to the floor. He peered down in shock, as Jeanne smiled a frozen smiled back at him from behind the shattered screen, while the tinny speaker blared the unmistakable strains of a plaintive oboe.
This was written in response to the Light and Shade challenge, using the provided photo and quote as a prompt. This post, and the other posts written in response to this challenge, can be found here: http://lightandshadechallenge.blogspot.com
While sloshing through the fallen leaves I spied, A camouflaged encumbrance; steps of stone, A long-forgotten staircase wedged long-side my brambled forest path, I stood alone.
Transfixed, confounded, searching for the home or structure high on hill, to which it led, Yet finding none, I could not help bemoan or shake the sense of loss, decay and dread.
I stared to glean its cold uneven treads, and wondered of the children once who climbed to hidden landings, (then I should have fled) But I was lured by whispers, lost in time.
Unseen terror through me cast a chill, A dream, perchance, and yet it haunts me still.
When days are fraught with storm clouds looming o’er
my life, I’m juggling many balls in air,
When piling on and on, I’m on the floor,
When hanging on is more than I can bear.
I stop and pause, implore a desperate prayer,
A wisp of hope, a slightly opened door
to shine the light of hope; that someone cares,
And then my Bridget calls, I can’t ignore.
She brings her love of life, so sweet and pure,
She lifts the thickening clouds within my soul,
She’s there like soothing salve, she’s ‘hope’ and more,
She lights my days, I’m not in control.
A butterfly stops by, He knows my fears,
He tells me not to fret, for He is near.
She tried to reach them but they turned away,
She sought to heal the scars of childish chills,
She strained to listen, words they’ll never say
to her, and yet she stands there waiting – still.
She delved too deeply, saw beyond their frills,
Masks of creatures filled with hate, like shrouds,
Clawed by cobwebs dripping from the sills
of shacks abandoned (as they should).
An opened palm in friendship (if only) could
have been a passport to a peaceful calm,
Instead they chose to shackle, irons and rood,
And showered not with love, but bitter balm.
The moral of my story isn’t clear,
Save to hold your children safely near.
*****
I write this as too many of our children deal with the ravages of sinister and relentless bullying. Trapped by believing, at first, that goodness can overcome all, they venture forth naïvely, only to be brutally cut down, again and again.
Too many of our children abide this terror every day. Believing that they are powerless to change their harsh reality, they linger in the limbo of wanting acceptance, yet afraid to admit the abuse they suffer.
Their only hope is to cling to families who love them unconditionally; who give them the strength, support and self-confidence to see it through.
*****
The Light and Shade Challenge
Written and submitted to the Light and Shade Challenge, October 14, 2014.
The whine of tyke bikes, go carts whirring by,
The block where long our house is standing tall,
The lawn of seven shades of bluegrass rye,
While I, from front-porch rocker, watch it all.
We pedal ’round the town, inhaling Fall
The nippy, clear, crisp air is cool and sweet,
With signs of autumn, vibrant leaves enthrall,
A pause at Vicki’s for a breakfast treat.
At crossroads, Broad and Elm, we meet and greet
our friends, both young and older, how d’ya do?
On to the ice cream shoppe, the next side street,
Our perfect autumn day is nearly through.
Returning as before, home fires warm,
Kick off our shoes, cocooned from worldly harm.
This photograph, captured by my daughter, conjures up images of ten-year-olds, racing their bikes around the neighborhood, stopping only to shoot a few hoops in the driveway.
What more poignant evidence of Humanity, than the imprint of a hastily tossed-aside bike, left outside one rainy autumn evening. I say a prayer of thanks that a few simple joys of childhood, joys that we experienced ‘on the block’, are still alive and well; reflections of our human-ness. Organized after-school activities and a plethora of team sport opportunities, cannot compare to the life lessons learned when playing with kids of all ages in the neighborhood; when choosing sides for a game of stick ball, is trumped only by having a catch, skateboard antics, or an ad hoc bike race.
Thanks to my daughter for sharing this photo and allowing me to post it in this week’s Weekly Photo Challenge: Humanity.
Echoes, shadow-whispers in the gray, Before the day when night is nearly gone, Lend prism-like perspective on my days.
Web-like, o’er the wispy willows play, A spectral, thin array before the sun, Echoes, shadow-whispers in the gray.
They flood my senses, jagged, on display Penetrate, invade what I’ve become, Lend prism-like perspective on my days.
And though some bridges burned and oft replayed, (Regrettably) do-overs rarely come, Echoes, shadow whispers in the gray.
I listen well to what they have to say, The silent spring within my soul unsprung, Lend prism-like perspective on my days.
Oh child, child of my child, take heed today, Be taught by my example while you’re young, Echoes, shadow-whispers in the gray, Lend prism-like perspective on my days.
Written for Studio 30+ using one of the prompts, “Jagged”.
While sloshing through the fallen leaves I spied,
*****
*****
Written for Studio 30+ using one of the prompts, “Jagged”.
Opal Reflections 