Saturday, August 28, 2010

Freedom

This was a gentle evening in late spring. The sun was sinking over a friendly sea; the world was a slowly turning kaleidoscope; the world was a once hot fire slowly cooling; and there was peace.

We sit on the deck, watching as the spectacle played out before us, pondering the beauty of life, and the inevitability of endings.

We talk of childhood, conjuring up images of days long past: unending holidays in the sun; exploring, free from the prying eyes of parents; the joy of a river fast and wide; a fishing rod that couldn’t catch fish. We remember a brighter world, an enamelled world, that shone with adventure and possibility; a world where magic existed, if you knew where to look.

Later, as night wraps her inky cloak around us, we talk of lost dreams; of painful metamorphosis; of childhoods end.

We talk of teenage rebellion; long hair that mimics the rock stars we will one day be; our desperate struggle against mediocrity; our stoic belief in magic.

We were cooler though, I say, cooler than rock stars. We were young and the flame of youth was still upon us.

The moon is a lantern in a hermit’s hand.

We talk of becoming adults; hair cut short; nine to five; the lure of money; responsibilities; the tearing, cutting nature of life.

Despite the dark, I know your eyes are sad.

You say “As enamel chips away, cold cast-iron is revealed”

And we are silent.

The sea plays her soft music and a meteor flashes across an untouchable sky.

We are smaller now, I say, but we still _are_, brother.

And, as we head to our beds, there is still hope in the world. And, despite the dark, there is still a flame upon us.
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