Series of Summer Soliloquies on Nature, Beauty and Truth
Sea Glass Memories
I sat digging and looking at rocks, right at the shore, as the shallow waves rolled across and absorbed into the rich, fine sand. My mind was in a lyrical appreciation of the textures: warm, smooth stones splashed by cool water; solemn, intense sun, in the broad cloudless sky heated the sand beneath my bottom.
A lanky woman, in a black bikini, with dark hair and a long, narrow face and large, charming eyes, strolled from my right and stopped before me. I looked up at her; my legs were parted before me, my hands in the sand. I felt like a child; she had come across me in a moment of oddity — in play incongruent with my age.
The woman, who must’ve been about forty years old, stood with one leg straightened, the other bent and hand on hip. This stance seemed to tower above me. She was an endless column, pointing heavenward, of tanned calves and thighs; her hips like a mural of broken color; as her torso and shoulders, face and arms, cascaded off, in sharp perspective, like a steeple or obelisk seen from it’s immediate base.
“Are you looking for sea glass?” She asked calmly.
I paused in a daze. Implement conversational skills? — Human being. “Well, no I’m just sort of playing. But, my grandma used to collect sea glass. She had jars filled with it.”
“Oh is that right?” The lady said, as she turned to look at the horizon.
“Yah, I suppose she may have found it all! I don’t see any now.”
The lady chuckled, but her eyes remained serene. There was silence, except for the call of a distant seagull and the weak breaking waves.
“Enjoy the day,” she said, smiling widely, as if for a photograph.
And as she continued her stroll, I watched briefly, to contain the loveliness of her figure, of her hair dancing across her back and the dissipation of footprints she left in the sand, as the sheen of dispersing water fell across her trail.
I knew she was gone, someone I’d never know. But, she came to me at that moment and her image would remain lucidly within me. Still sitting in sand, right at the shore, the ocean water came billowing up my body and cooled me to the core.
For a long distance, there was nothing to see but the silhouettes of tall trees. The sound of a thin, winding river could be heard nearby, as well as crickets and the screech of a hawk.
I opened up to the fullness of a tone: loud, clear and full. I did this several times and felt all the bones and muscles of my face, the chamber of my throat and the capacity of my chest resonate. At the end of that call, the forrest echoed back to me.
Sophia is the amber light billowing through the backlit trees. She smiles at me with just slightly parted lips, from the wondrous heavens, which have opened up to me.
She has greeted me with a rainbow to the south. The amber deepens now, into a rich orange hue. Now, I smile to her and behold her perfume.
There are the flickering drops still scattering the grounds; birds chirp periodically; lightening has hit ground. The orange-pinkness covering the sky brings a joyousness to my eye. And so this fleeting moment, which I behold, is in your honor, Sophia of old.
The deep orange light slumbers and breaks, through to magenta across the divine sky. She widens her smile so lovely and gentle. Nobody knows her in my small town; but I have waited and now I have found, that she is within me — to her I am bound.
Sophia hangs dutifully on her golden throne; I sit admiringly in a church made of stone. To this respite she says to me a goodnight, for tomorrow I’ll see her in other delights.
The rich pink sky ripples away, as pale purple clouds hold their sway. The trees darken completely, no longer refracting inbetween; the birds are still chirping as she closes the scene.
Croissants and Summer
Croissants, pears and cheese, under the shade of trees — life flutters along, into memories. For now I will breathe and sit, amongst the summer day.
Pleasure, without care, beneath a rich blue abyss; nothing to think of, no-one to miss. My senses sing melodies of which forever will be true. All is constantly changing; wind whistles through leaves. This day is mercurial, fleeting like dreams. Of the greatest mystery, I have found a clue.
Let me know what you think of these new artistic developments! Which little vignette was your favorite?
If you would like to stay updated with my new musings please subscribe