Cards juice knee wire
A small boy looking at me.
A smile alighting his face.
A neighbour’s son.
A balcony above.
A patio emerges.
An open newspaper, a person, a man, hiding.
What is a kid’s memory but a perception of a frozen instant, adding to a personal story, perhaps a personal history?
Then, later, we built stories from frozen images.
I initially wrote tumultuous sky, however, there was more than one sky above me this morning, dark clouds, very interesting shapes forever changing, clear, dark, light, perhaps a prelude of stormy weather… The golden disc, giver of life, giver of death, struggling to appear behind the fighting clouds in a perpetual movement, bent in closing the fissures to the golden rays…
Peaks, valleys, a constant variation above me, far but near, the wind, sometimes gentle, on other roughly impatient, playing games with my senses and expectations.
A geography of the sky, complex, closed yet open, variable, reflections of my soul…
No name are going to be mentioned. However, I have noticed that some accounts are no more than vanity windows for people to show how good their homes are. While some of them are quite interesting to see, but my desire to see the people behind them is nil.
And I remembered what I was about to write when my mind went into a blank.
Rain this morning, I could hear it knocking on my bedroom window as I was waking up, I positioned my bed next to it, the rain singing its tune on the glass, the stars gliding is the last thing I see before closing my eyes.
As spring is coming up, I am looking forward to the sun shining on my face.
After a while, I heard the chirping of the birds, sparrows mostly, perhaps blue tits too, also, marauding gulls about to dive after spotting a morsel on the ground. Flocks of starlings will fill the sky and the soundscape with their impatience later.
Tanzanian black coffee on my hand in the balcony, stray drops of water hitting on my face, the cold and the wind embracing me, Yannick on my lap until Blackie, a neighbouring cat came to have her usual morning bite.
Even in winter, perhaps specially in winter, I love to feel surrounded by the morning.
We try to reach the stars, burnt we will be.
Like children, off springs of the universe, our freedoms are imprisoning us.
Are we constraining us because we want to go beyond the vastness of life?
The sun is shining, I am nourished by its warmth, the cries of seagulls going round and round filling my aural sky.
Clouds wander. A spider built its web while I was having my morning coffee. Was that the one who landed on my lap?
If I speak, a web will appear.
If I stay silent, a web will appear.
I was to begin with the words “Today is my birthday”.
But it is not. A week will pass. Then I will be able to say “Today is my birthday”.
Then I will say “I was born in Viña del Mar, Chile”. Does it matter?
A shadow leaving no traces behind. Will I?
No. I will not say when my birthday is.