The Lover and the Fool

Posted on March 24, 2019 by

31 Comments

Running through the mud, laughing like a feral forest child with no concept of language. My body, the only means of communication, flying down Macleay creek trail, passing the Witch’s House. I swear I float above the trail. Then on Wildwood, even the sounds of the shipyards can’t humble my magic. I am the mud, the fern, the bobcat, the pygmy owl, hunter of twilight, snapping, gulping foggy sunbeams poking their shadows between slender conifers. I look to my skin to see if it’s on fire. There aren’t flames, at least the kind one can see. And it does not burn in the sense of pain, but from inside me.

 

Dragging my untied shoes in Sunnyside, my feet like claws on the pavement. Closing the car door, running shoes dangling from my hand, they are stuffed with a couple of twenties, debit card, license, house keys. My limbs ache for a shower and a beer. Kids from the school pass by, laugh. My body, the only means of communication, hands, red, wrinkled, veins and arteries…caked mud on my knees. I am the transient, the poor, a beggar, schizo. The sun is a fool and a lover. I look to my skin to see if it’s on fire. Ashy. The kids aim their cellphones at me.

Category: PortraitsTags: , , , , , , , , , , ,

31 Comments on “The Lover and the Fool”

  3. I so enjoyed this writing. You truly captured a lot about the time and place and the amazing feelings you have surrounding the experience. Excellent writing and you really have an amazing spirit. Thank you kindly. Better late than never. We have been very ill on and off. It is called old age. It is ok; better than the alternative. Have a great week. Thank you kindly.

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  13. Pingback: The Lover and the Fool – Timeless Wisdoms

  17. After such an adventure of course your body, your only means of communication, will show the tale, so different from those who stayed home and just watched the TV. And, the kids will take note, be curious, take a picture, maybe, someday, even follow.

    Liked by 1 person

  19. I don’t know what I’d do if I lived in an area without at least some kind of forest. It’s so ingrained in me like the rain. I might steal “fuzzy Xerox” from you. Kind of like living in a carbon paper world.

    Liked by 2 people

  20. Loved it, Elan. No forest where I grew up, so my story would read “Running through the sprinkler, laughing like a feral pixie with no concept of an existence beyond the present moment…” I loved mud, too. I’d drag the hose to the garden and make mud puddles to dip my feet in, let it dry, then prance around telling the neighbors I was wearing “mud slippers.” Recreating an amazing childhood experience is possible, but it always feels sad and inadequate, like comparing a fuzzy Xerox to a crisp original. You capture that well here. 🙂

    Liked by 1 person

  24. This is so good, loving your imagery. Especially liked this line: “I look to my skin to see if it’s on fire.”

    Liked by 1 person

  26. I understand what you mean. I used to have dreams of flying. I would be flying, hovering a few feet above the ground. As I recall, these were in a forested area. This is before I started to run trails here in the Pacific Northwest. So, there’s a part of this story that has to do with that (our) dream.

    Liked by 2 people

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