Three pieces about the shortest and longest days (2 by me, 1 by Karina Brink)

The shortest day beckons sunlight.
The darkest night is before the dawn.
The path ahead may be through the shadows
but even this will pass.

***

The longest day brings an abundance of light.
Banishes all darkness & shadows.
At night, short & sweet:
Only dreams
Of hope.

***

Dreams of colour, splintered light.
The darkness behind the mirror leaves us with the shortest night.
And hope slow burns.

Honoured to share a page with Karina Brink @KarinaMSzczurek 

We walk away from our past

We walk away from our past and memories pile up behind us, blocks and rocks and shards of bright stained glass. The rising-sun light lifts the colours of the memories and lays them flat in front of us, puddling and lakes and oceans toward the future horizon. We stride or stagger forward, ankle deep in colour.

My ears are dull

My ears are dull.

They do not hear the single threads

you hear in the harmony.

 

You say that love has many voices –

love is many voices –

braided, sometimes tangled,

voices tied in rope together.

 

My eyes are dull.

They do not see the single colours

you see in the rainbow.

 

You say that love has many colours –

love is many colours –

winding, sometimes twisted,

colours kaleidoscoped together.

 

I hear the chorus, not the voices,

until your voice stands out from others.

I see the rainbow, not the colours,

but without your colour there is no rainbow.

 

My heart is full.

It feels the endless ribbons

of colour, of voice,

that hold our hearts together.

 

 

 

You used to bring me rockets

“Waving sparklers in the rain – it was all a bit half-hearted, wasn’t it?”
“I enjoyed it. And the rockets were pretty.”
“I suppose so, but they didn’t take us anywhere did they? They didn’t even go anywhere except into the sky.”
“I’d like to go up into the sky. Think how exciting it would be. Flash! Bang!”
“And then you’d fall back to ground, unseen, uncared for, and that would be that.”
“But at least you would have been there, you’d have been colour for a minute. No matter what happened later. One minute would be enough.”
“You’ve changed.”
“You used to bring me rockets.”

Red on green, soft black

The coat stood out against the dying grass on the hillside. Anyone passing would have seen it.

Nobody passed.

She shrugged the coat back onto her shoulders and turned her gaze to the sky, away from the tree that leaned from the North Sea wind. Her jaw was gently set, as if the clouds troubled her at first. Then her face smoothed and her soft eyes saw the distance, saw the future.

(Inspired by http://www.broaddaylightltd.co.uk)

Volare… Nel blu dipinto di blu…

I carried you inside me and now I carry the weight of your dreams on my shoulders. I shall not buckle. I shall not fall. They will not break me.

Dreams should be weightless, should be weight-free, should lift you up and take you onward, into the blue, into tomorrow. But as I sit and watch you sleep, on your mother’s young shoulders your dreams lie heavy.

And as I walk along the clifftop path, you sit on my shoulders singing Volare. (Sing, mummy, sing.) I can see the mountains of Albania beyond the blue, beyond the sea and the sky. Volare.