Colours

 

The colour of distance was a kaleidoscope –

glass shards, shiny dreams mixed in with river gravel,

wildflowers flattened by raindrops, dusted with hope,

a lone evening star pierced by a mountaintop,

the primordial rhythms of footsteps, sands and travel.

 

Everything isn’t a journey, there’s standing still

to observe the intent rain trickle down your nape.

Everything isn’t colour. Endless climb uphill.

It’s picking up a seashell too, and watch it fill

with rain and ocean, reflect you and the landscape.

 

The colour of home, in contrast, was more specific

tending to terracotta – burnt clay pots and pans,

a mud-wide riverside, a wall of exposed brick,

my father’s wedding ring, my mother’s old ceramic

mug of clear black Darjeeling steaming in her hands.

Everything isn’t home and home’s not everything.

There’s being alone, a stranger, under vaster skies,

the thrill of unknown earth, unknown paths beckoning,

the bone deep peace of trees, the flash of a birdwing,

feet firmly on strange tracks with nothing recognised.

I came across this book title and a quote from it - 'you can't go home again' by Thomas Wolfe, a famous author from North Carolina. The quote's been buzzing around my head...it has permeated everything I've written subsequently, home and away, the various shades of homecoming and unhomecoming. Someday I would like to get my hands on this book. 

Amazon offered me a free audio version - but you know me, my neural pathways are paved in concrete and it's too late to change their preferences - audio isn't remotely as satisfying as a regular printed book with that crisp papery feel between thumb and fingers. It might work for a short story, but don't see how I am to manage with audio for a 700+ page novel. Hubby keeps extolling the various virtues of audiobooks - no shelfspace requirement apart from being practically free, no stress on eyes etc etc, but the heart wants what it wants. No arguments possible with that.

Which do you prefer  - audio or printed? Hope your week is filled with colours and books in your preferred avatars. Have a blissful one. 

Palace of Dreams

 

Didn’t you always crave a lemon tree,

a mango or two, the smell of summer?

A clematis trailing the exposed bricks?

Didn’t you always dream what this would be?

Less concrete and curtains and more runner

beans, citrus suns, hiraeth edging homesick.

The tides of jasmine covering for the sea.

Halfway to a sonnet, half a bit firmer

and freeing itself of every metric 

to lace into an amorphous canopy.

An empty sparrow’s nest in one corner.

A bare bulb somewhere, nothing idyllic.

Rain filling up the sky and rusting grills.

The paving dusted with hibiscus pistils.

July has run into August and I'm pedalling furiously to catch up somehow but always falling behind, always out of breath and vaguely puzzled as to why this is happening. The idea is to post the first and last Sundays/Mondays but I think the first one has slipped by without my realising it. Oh well, what's done is done, or rather what's left undone cannot be done retrospective, only done late. Anyway, better late than never.

August is always a busy month - lots of family and personal milestones, apart from the big national holiday coming up on the 15th. So offline life will muscle in and shove aside the online one - guaranteed. A few years ago this would have upset me, I'd have scheduled stuff and not missed a single Sunday...but one evolves - I no longer obsess about things I can't help, I don't know for sure if that's a good thing but it doesn't feel like a bad one. 'Do what you can with as much as you have and let the rest go' - I'm still internalising things I should have done years ago. Better late than never...

Wishing you a smooth and tranquil week ahead.