Tuesday, September 22, 2009
into your time
I want to see into your time, your history, pass the veneer of hair and skin and nail. To see a life in the movement of eye, of hand. How you hold an object--in your mind--the attention given, paid. How you honor sun, shade, branch, leaf and bird. How you float on thought, comfortable wet as dry, loving each as children. I want to see how the light reflects off the curve of your cheek in the afternoon, how your eye holds a tear with the courage to cry of beauty as well as the broken vase. I want to know your weathered wood and supple leather, to breathe in their stories and feel each grain of age grown, earned. I want to know what you think, when you kneel, of wood, of stone, of down matters not. There is a depth, here. A life steeped in the compassion of loss. I see it in your bearing, the touch of your hand, the way you hold my words in your eyebrows and let them down gently into your smile. Sincere as sunrise.
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The notes for this piece were jotted down on the bus, as soon as we had vacated the Frazier museum and what I longed for was not youth, but age, of a woman with the hands of a life lived, with eyes that had seen both loss and love, of hands that could hold the world in a cup of tea.
lovely. It evokes so many images, smells, and thoughts.
Thanks Cande. After those kids rushed through the museum, I had this desire to move at a different speed, to feel the touch of history in a hand and an eye, to hear a voice tempered in life lived and passion sought in a moment, in an object, in attention paid to the soul of another.
excellent writing that brings up so many emotions in me...
Cat, I have always adored those older than myself as I have always preferred what is distressed over what is pristine. I want to touch someone who knows they are being touched and in this touching, all that speaks are the eyes, watching, unblinking, bright and clear and deep as only time can carve. I want to hold the hand that has known pain and loss and is weathered in adversity, tempered in the cycle of day and night, who knows of ink pressed into vellum in the middle of the night.
I understand this. I know this. I'd say I live this, but not accurately so. I want to be child, young woman and seasoned woman all at once, or undulating, and I want my him to be all of these things as well, and in between even this, I want us to trade genders and do it all again. I don't ask for too much, do I?
Nothing a little chocolate and/or beer can't fix. ;-)
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