It's Still Life

At an Intersection Named After an English King and a Saint
Six Sentence Story: Part 5

The Edge of Breath, Part 5

Sometimes you smell the fragrance of eternity, and other times you look down, see your reflection in the mud, and check to see if you’ve stepped in something, but today as lightning sheered across the cold-as-grey sentinel stones of Stonehenge, Connor’s words from eternity found me, ‘I rest in colours at the edge of breath,’ he said.

And so I grabbed my pen and wrote in my journal:
Life became living today, became generative and regenerative – there’s a thread of sunlight that shines a river through me – I am bone, blood, breath; I am wishing, caring, living, loving … and I have stopped longing for what is gone.

I swipe up on my phone’s screen and type a quick text message:
Hi love, I’ll be in Winchester tomorrow with a friend and a dog that he says is not his – lunch at the Wykeham Arms – requested table next to the bishop’s mitre – reservation includes you at 13.00 please ring Elizabeth and reserve a parking space for us at WinColl – unless I hear otherwise, see you tomorrow B xx

Sometimes someone says something so Nostredame-ish, like Eternity rests in colours at the edge of breath or memories are shipwrecks waiting to resurface, that it causes your thoughts to pull up sharp as a stopped rock.

That sums up today.

I stand at the window, looking up at stars pooled in the Milky Way, a smear of hydrogen magenta and yellowish white like the colour of spring snow at sunrise, and I tell myself, “Be humble for I am made of earth and be noble for I am made from stars.”

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Written for Denise’s Six Sentence Story including the Pool Some artwork is created using Midjourney AI, and is identified as such in the ALT text or captioned. Images are copyright and not to used without permission, which I willingly give when asked, and when not for commercial use. Imagery and poems/prose ©Misky 2006-2024. Last sentence is inspire by a Serbian proverb by Karde Rabin.