the unspeakable distances where you've been

music: annimystique, hot springs
mood: wakeful

the most frightening sound isn't the scratching, the most frightening sound is the blur of wingbeats inside stiff metal. softness and the tinny stove-pipe birdsongs. so i place palms against the surface, trying to hold your feathers and fear. the cranberry sauce cooling, pumpkin pie baking, leaves that are changing have all been forgotten. and i open glass-paned doors, pull out the waiting wood, brush away last year's ashes.
the weight of the sparrow falls right to my hands.

all weekend, we woke early and ate breakfast (homemade bread, cafe au lait) still in our pyjamas. we spent mornings exploring the city's novelties (a jigsaw hindu temple, grocery stores filled with foodstuffs we'd never imagined) or sitting at home, reading. we had tea on the porch and watched the wind and the garden falling into fall. and i listened carefully to travel stories i hadn't heard (the procession of beach-combed objects through a fancy greek hotel, balcony fireworks at the house in spain). and i promised to remember. rainy piano afternoon alone in an empty house, playing brahms waltzes over and again. i drew airplane-view treescapes and i dreamed good dreams. mum got back from europe for a morning walk by the lake and we talked, watched seagulls from below the bluffs. i left with many gifts: old photographs, a new dress, an already finished novel and inherited magic beans (each is filled with one hundred ivory elephants).
it was quite & quietly perfect.

your heart beats so fast before you fly.