Walls will fall, never to be rebuilt.
Bridges may fall and crumble to dust
but hope will always
always
find a way
fall
Did you fall in love?
Did you fall in love?
No, I dove.
angry sun whipped-up sea dusty wind
I
dive
deep
deep
down
lead-tipped arrow straight
the sand chills my hand
The trees pump
All summer the trees pump the rust-red up through roots, trunks, branches. Now, as it reaches their leaves, they heavily, heavenly, fall.
Swing
I push you gently
firmly
and you swing out from the edge.
You are floral against the blue beyond the cliff
and
after a moment
of suspension
of disbelief
swing back.
I catch you firmly
gently
and wrap my arms around your waist.
I kiss your neck and you half-twist.
Your dress is thin cotton in the temperate sun.
I push you again
and again
you swing out
toes pointed
legs straight out from the worn wooden seat.
The rope knots squeak
the tree imagined on the edge of the drop.
You swing out above the clouds
out
back
out
back
my hands on your shoulders
each time you return.
Again I hold on to your waist
and we swing out
above the emptiness
my feet hang down
cutting through clouded air.
Your back is warm through the cotton
my arms are tight.
We swing together
the sun to our side
soft clouds below.
And then we are back on the grass
and you turn
and look in my eyes
and I raise my eyebrows
and you nod
and I nod
and I walk backwards
holding you firm
until I am standing on tiptoes
and then I run forward
and as we swing out
out
up and out
and I am not sure how
but you let go of the swing and
we are
falling
falling
falling
through the soft warm air.
We fall
and we fall
and I do not know why
but I am not afraid of the height or the falling
and you are with me
and I am with you
and you smile and I smile.
No comment
Many people saw him running along the top of the crag, outlined against the sinking sun, “leaping and bounding”, “like some big old deer”.
After the fall, a very few wondered, for no more than a moment, where he had gone. “He’ll have gone down the path by the side of the burn”, “heading down before the darkness”.
He lay there a night and a day and most of another night, thinking he was shouting and screaming but making noises like “a feart wee dog” or “a morning gull beside your chimney”.
The media were interested for a day or two, only because of who he was “loving and leaving”, who he had been “kissing and telling”.
Now only the chemtrails believers think he was tripped both that time and this, now that he has “slipped on the stairs with his crutches” and “gone to meet his maker”.
The thin man looked at the report and today’s front news pages and smiled. “No comment.”
In the fall I fell for you
In the fall I fell for you.
In the fall you caught me.
In the fall I fell for you.
In my fall you caught me, you taught me, you held me, you plastered wounds I had thought incurable.
In the fall I fell for you.
I will never fall again.
Opening
I saw my opening and sped up. Unfortunately, so did she. Our bumpers kissed in the car park. She wound down her window and I fell.
Night storm. Tree falls.
Night storm. Tree falls. In the morning swingball stands disdainful, tosses its haughty mane. Of a single dog-chewed tennis ball on a frayed fluorescent nylon string. Tree stays down. Lies with lime-green plastic bats on the grass-green grass. Vanquished. Drums its twigs on the neighbour’s fence. Fence tilts but doesn’t fall. Tree sighs and settles. Waits.
Based on original observation by @johnhiggs
The birds fell (updated)
The birds fell, one by one. At first Ian thought they were diving but they were not, they were falling, some backwards and down as if cuffed from the sky, wings spread like crucified angels, others tilting and tipping, heads heavy with emptiness, falling and falling, wings folding. Their distant fall ended somewhere through the shimmering air. He thought of stories that had started and stories that would never. His story ended.
(www.paragraphplanet.com 21 October 2013)
The birds fell, one by one
The birds fell, one by one. At first Ian thought they were diving but they weren’t, they were falling, some blown backwards and then down as if a hand had cuffed them from the sky, others wings spread as if crucified, then tilting and tipping, their heads now heavy with thoughts of death and endlessness, then falling and falling, their wings now folded. He couldn’t see where their fall ended. It was too distant. The air shimmered.
He thought of stories that had started and stories that would never start. His story ended.
