Weeping Willow (day 1676)

It is with this intention
That I grow into unique
But not a unique so unique
It looses it’s physique
For lost and alone
Was never a soul
To be borne or simply left
Just lost in the lagoon
Trampling skunk cabbage
And swinging aimlessly
About low hanging branches
Of a bountiful weeping willow
To find the end to gather up
A handful of bull-rushes
That I so delicately paste
Upon the small of my back
To become my wings as I carry on
Forward and truth,
Happy New Year to all
The game is upon us now.

Mine Own Dagger (day 1674)

Dagger’s claws
At my shadow –
Cast upon the wall,
This silent story
Unfolded from
The backseat of a
Four horse pulled carriage.
Creaking springs and
Horses hooves
Left the night full of content.
But I, macabre,
Silently went;
No companion at my side.
Yet lightly had I begun my way
When I recognized my fate:
My future was –
Decidedly –
Not within my luggage close,
But upon my back,
Mine own enemy,
Cloaked in
One thousand names
I shall speak of nevermore.

The Purr of Gaia (day 1672)

Dear George,

The letters from Salem finally arrived today. I had been preparing for them all week – harvesting a few varieties of toadstools in the forest around the area.

Bonhomie fills my heart this time of season. I wear my warm clothes and delight in an extra cup of coffee most days. Are you still exploring your art of the bean? I have started to use a scale to measure proportions for my perfect cup of coffee.

As I read through the hand written letters, the snow started falling here. Big large flakes that have started to stay on the ground, lazily floating there chaotically.

I love this time of year. The browns are so dominant, lacking most any signs of the lush green foliage of summer’s heat. It soothes the black heart inside of me, calling out to me slowly as I imagine the sweet embracing, icy fingers of Gaia as she slowly settles into fetal position – eyes flickering slowly – for a calm rest. Much like the feline.

I saved a feline from certain death two weeks ago. It had come pawing at my door after I fed it one lonely night. I had seen it fishing in garbage cans for luck earlier that week. We tracked down the owner who said it was left behind during a move half way across the country.

Can you imagine the absurdity of that? Moving half way across the country and leaving without your cat?

It’s a beautiful cat with the fullest of coats and a purr that shakes the icicles from sweet Gaia grip as she slowly settles into my black heart.

I look forward to hearing from you soon. The lovely sketch that accompanied your last letter was so enchanting. I’ve had it sitting on my windowsill since you sent it.

Much love,

Lizarious

Rowboat (day 1658)

A sadness which has my heart is the deepest joy I have ever known. A snaking coil in my veins that surges with pressure of an ancient gale, fierce in spirit, surfacing upon it’s vista. I have come to realize I am the coloration, the reminiscent artifact of ashes smearing an impossible black sand beach at the head of the trust waters. My song is what trees sway to, sitting about the shoreline untouched by humanity’s destructive progress and filled with such contrast, from lightness to a darkness deep within the bosom of her mossy embrace. My song reaches to the toenails while standing barefoot upon this cold black sand, embracing wind as it blows every last hair drawn fabric about thy heart. My heart is forever in liberty, just as these black pebbles cackle at retreating waves. My heart is a mariner with a squint of foggy shorelines, and my sadness is forever the rope mooring our rowboat beached upon this black sand beach.

Rowboat-by-Ned-Tobin