Journey Through the Years: Rat

A series of interpretations based on The Chinese Zodiac.

Two months ago I pressed a promise into words. While sitting besides myself I was struck with an idea cradling a wealth of creative pasture. My “Journey through the years” collection would be my opening into an interesting perspective. My enthusiasm was tested quickly, my tongue recoiled at the richness of this morsel of a muse, my keys stuttered into an inertia that has offered nothing but silence onto these pages. While the year has still so much to offer, I will shy away no longer. Lets list together the years.

There will be poetry, prose and open ended letters, however the year speaks best. I wont know what vessel each piece of this zodiac will fall in, but I will find a way to offer it forward.

For our first of the years, here is our first.

 

 

The Rat

Under the banner of allegiance, I can lead you where you need. With my back to the west I will welcome the new beginnings, we shall  forget the taste of hunger. In all the ways I championed to be the first I can offer sweetness into your season.

This will be ours to claim, the year that opens hope. I have sampled the soured pearls of the vine, believe me when I steer you safe from sour fruit. We can head fully into the onlookers and mingle as one of them, as though cut from common stock we can stoke our value from wherever there is voice. Steadily and stern, wary of the wayward few.

Point easterly, north and south and welcome the coming sun. Light needs very little to argue for its life. There is no head way to be made for rootless quadrilles, no slight of speak to bite into if we believe our motive just.  The sun speaks a language without refute. Light is light.

Our year yields a bouquet of the most flavour, I list my luck on the life of the Lilly. She warns me with her pail gaze when winter rounds the bend, then we are free find for ourselves shelter. If the world lives as colourful as this beautiful sentiment of golds, greens, and blues. Then dawn your suns, pastures and skies, to rally our lucky stars.

These will be the banners of our years. Coursing through the rivers of time.

B.N.

Writing 101 – Day 6: Music & Lyrics

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Her fingers were tipped with magic, they teased at the strings of her guitar, sweetening the air around and stealing me away from my own thoughts. The sun danced to her medleys, her lips, full with passion and grace traced out words to new worlds that lived in song. Her whole body was immersed in music, the passion filled her cheeks with life, they dawned a scarlet warmth that radiated from the brightest smile, with a single shallow dimple poked into her left cheek. Her nose did a little dance as she sang, she’d sway to the music and disappear behind her thick lashes.

At first, I only heard the music. It was enriching the painting of the summers day unfolded in front of me. I was sat beneath the giant Elm tree, scribbling away at my notepad and working my way through a book. Between watching the park fill with a mosaic of faces, coaxed into frenzy by the summers brilliance, I’d peck away at chapters of my book and scatter words onto the blank pages of my note book. It was out of curiosity that I turned her way, the sound of that guitar pried me out of my world of words and ushered me into the pulsating current of polyphonic brilliance. I adjusted to face the music, and there she was, enjoying her picnic for one. Enjoying herself, making merry in accordance with the radiant delight of summer.

She had won my audience, I listened in appreciation. The music had perforated the last barrier that would have deemed us strangers. We became two residents of the same home, inhabitants of the same present, woven together by music. The notes she played nurtured our smiles into nods, which opened the door through which the two worlds bled through.

The prelude our initial interaction had glossed my impression of her richly, we had no problem diving into engaging conversation, Pealing away the layers in a jovial joust, fighting away the thin veneer of  the unknown that lingered. I spoke of words, she spoke of music. Music meant so much to her, she adopted a certain vulnerability when she talked about her music. She spoke sweetly and full of certainty,  she spoke as she sang, with captivating grace, hooking me with every sentence she uttered. She had these eyes, these shy eyes. Like a sobered tempest, still, blue, teasing up a storm in every glance, they traced my features and welcomed my gaze, filling me with warmth. She had a character of intriguing allure. She wore her hair boldly, a rebellious blonde that swept one way, just reaching low enough to hide her ear lobs, and gently framed her radiant face, it complemented her boisterous nature perfectly.

The hours were dwarfed into endless strands of a mutual fascination. Fleeting minutes, falling over to the next in haste, time was passing us. I unwrapped every chapter of her mind with zeal and wonder, she wandered into my labyrinth of nuances and quirks, with surprising delight. The conversation caught fire and consumed the day light. The cold air that rushed along her soft skin was  a sure sign it was time to go home. We parted ways with a promise. We promised to hunt down any open mics and poetry slams. We spoke everyday and fantasized about chasing storms. Vibrant storms, where music and words can catch fire once more.