Like a sketch cartoon.
Standing on a little hill. Black lines that curve white. Let's play pretend and colour it green and say there's grass blowing in the breeze. Hills are always a little windy. There's a grey figure there, holding an umbrella unsure if the sky will rain. How long is unsure. It's grey as everyday. No clouds, just bland expanse. So instead standing and waiting is the only option. Watch birds flying away, somewhere warm and exotic - South. What was left here was none of our business. Coming and going. Answering phones and taking messages. How do you fill your day?
There still. Waving a little white flag, 'see me, see me'. As the birds pass over. They seem to take no notice. 'Little bird why do you fly away, take me with you.' Grabbed by talon and floating in a moonlit sky. Feet dangle and there is no fear for life. Mr James' said it was like walking in the air, and was right. Just feel the cool on your face and it's like a long awaited breath. Opening eyes. Sun coming up. Trees filled with orange flowers and red fruits. White mountains and vineyards further than you can make out. Imagination gone wild and leaked into reality. 'Leave me here, where it's beautiful and the land can shine - life can now be so magical. I remember a life once like this in a photograph.'
Fallen from the sky and landed softly on heels. It was good for a time but it couldn't be sustained. Flowers have to die and seasons make the mountains grow old. The fruits fell and rotted in the ground that turned hard and cold. Rain falls and washes away all the colour, again. Water colours are so unreliable. The paint box was out of empathy. 'Everything I touch turns to ruin', sleep tonight and forget the taste of tragedy. Back to a line drawing of black curving white.
The figure awoke unawares. Climbed to the top of a hill and stood with an umbrella, was it going to rain today?
Bringing mess into the patterns of other lives, how do you apologise for that? How to repair the damage and continue on in making improvements for the future so it 'doesn't happen again'. The truth is, of course it will happen again. There's no time limit on disaster and no exact science that can explain chaos theory. Mathematics tries so hard. No determined explanations for the chemical imbalances that make things crazy, "chan eil mi gu math idir". We're living in a world that is not our own but there will always be mystery, cruelty, beauty and sorrow in that. Just left here to die in a dying place. If you're aiming too high they say you'll land among the stars but you still need oxygen to breathe. Without that where do you go to. Some people can speak with their eyes. Some with their lips and others by their actions. When none of these seem to work how do I say 'I'm so very deeply sorry'? Can you?