Tag: a.i.Art
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05.01: A Liturgy for a Bubble
A Liturgy for the Bubble in a Current Once upon a time We gathered at water’s edge,in a jacuzzi between the spokenand the dissolved. We knew when a metaphor was not a metaphor,but a bubble wearing a skin of air, and we spoke to the Brief Republic,the Spinning Borders,the diamond thinning to memory.We called it…
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The Old Woman With No Cat
THE CAT’S TEMPORAL PROTEST(Or: Why Fix What Isn’t Broken) The Old Woman is hanging a new calendar.A gift from the crow.Who stole it. January glows with a photo of a serene garden. The cat watches,tail-tip flicking with skepticism.“Explain,” he says,“the need for a new year.The old one was functional.It had sunbeams.It had sardines.It had that…
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The Old Woman With No Cat
THE CAT’S HEAVENLY MISTAKE (Or: A Pine-Scented Epiphany) He wakes beneath the tree. A fortress of fir and glitter,dazzled by fairy lightsthat wink like trapped stars.Above him,an angel glows serenely,her gaze fixed somewherebetween wonder and Woolworth’s. “Ah,” he breathes,tail-tip twitching in awe.“So this is the end.I knew I was too goodfor this mortal realm.” He…
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The Old Woman With No Cat
THE CAT EXPLORES HAMLET’S IDEALIST THEORY(Or: To Scream, or Not to Scream—That Is the Observation) “Consider,” the cat’s tail twitches,“Hamlet’s dilemma: ‘To be, or not to be.’But what is ‘to be’if not to be perceived?If I sit in the garden,and no human sees me,am I truly there?Or am I merely…a sublime hypothesis?” The Old Woman…
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16 Dec: Riverbraid – The Liturgy
The Liturgy for Riverbraid (the water that listens) I. The Carrier of TimeNot emerald. Not jade.But river-green — dark as silt and shadow.It carries storieswithout speaking them aloud,shifting with the light:like memory surfacing,then sinking again. Riverbraid does not rushto reveal itself. II. Of Discipline and AttentionThis is not passive watching —it is presence without interference.…
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The Old Woman With No Cat
The Cat’s Revenge: A Lesson in Chess(Or: How to Knock Over a Kingdom in Four Moves) The old woman sets the board with care, each piece polished,each square aligned like a promise. “This is a game of strategy,” she says.“Of patience… and grace.” The cat observes from the throne of his favourite chair,one eye open,…
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13.12: Later …
From my path to yours, I send warmth and my best wishes. AI imagery. ©Misky 2006-2025.
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11.12: Driftthaw – The Liturgy
The Liturgy for Driftthaw— The Unhurried Awakening I. Of LukewarmIt arrives not as storm, nor sun,but as a space-heater’s hum against a cold wall,a pigeon bathing in December rain as if it were holy water,a mind fogged by sameness,a heart pacing in a room too small for its dreams.Driftthaw is the colour of a spiritbeginning…
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8.12: Sentinel Trees
Sentinel Trees These areher sentinel trees,watchersof her comingsand her goings This first Sundayof the month,frost holdingthe air lowand steadyas she leansbackinto the white breath of a birch. She, once a childof its slow-growing seed,whispers,tell me a story…one about a young womanwho ran awayto the citybecause she thoughtgreenwasn’t enough. And tell meshe knows nowhow her instinctsmove…
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The Old Woman With No Cat
The Cat’s Bedtime Story The Old Woman is tucked beneath quilts,the moon is a sliver in her sleepy tea,and the cat, perched on the duvet,clears his throat. “Once upon a time,” he begins,“there was a… a mouse.A very… small mouse.With… fur.” He pauses.Blinks once.Twice. “And he… um.He… walked…across a… floor.A wooden floor.It was… oak.” Another…
It's Still Life 