I feel I am crossing liminal spaces of late — between dusk and shadow, slipping between night and day.
I’m not sure if it is the hours, or maybe it is these days. But there is a persistent tug of flux, a drawing in and release. I grow disinterested in the machinations of the embrace of doing things the same way day by day. It seems much more interesting to drift and fade, and it is a mistake of mine to expect my object to all subjects to feel the same.
Snip. Snip. Snip. A painfully slow arcade of cutting the linen laid bare before me, watching with wry, droll amusement at times as supporting threads give way to unraveled snapping instead of waiting for Atropos to come by and give a release clean.
Into the mists, then. Who dares follow? Who dares dream?
Fox cries razor through white, quickly filled in. Crows announce the edges of dark with cacophonic chatter as they discuss the next and the next and the—
Lost, who dares remain unfound?
6 responses to “Dares”
Wow, I wish I could express myself like that even in my native tongue. Nice choice of words!
Thanks Veselin 🙏
Perhaps it’s this time of life, but I often find myself in these moments too, where an act I’ve done a bunch of times feels different. I just listened to a story of a woman who lives alone in the woods and her relationship with a dove, a 30 year old friendship. It made me think about patterns and time. Your writing did the same.
Thanks. Capture those and hold on to them!
Yes, I feel this is the tone this month. Yesterday, I heard a writer use the phrase “intertidal” to describe her form and found it apt for where my sensibilities tend to linger. It needs more naming, these liminal spaces. . . and yet, they shapeshifter, resisting names. Good to see you here, friend.
That’s a great word, wish I would have thought of it first. I agree, that’s where I tend to reside more often than not.
Good to see you as well, Stacey 💙 Always a joy.