Friday, 25 January 2013


she sits in large branches, thick as tree trucks.  enveloped in leaves - her tule skirt catches and rip's in the brambles.  uncaring.  she blows gigantic, crystal bubbles into the setting golden sun.



last night she read a book from cover to cover.  by 4am when she turned the last page. sleep was still lost.


bare feet. she placed each sole determinedly.  what was once her beautiful, overgrown garden - now barren.  gritty sand enveloped her toes she shred at the stars and pictured the magnificence of its once glory.  stepping on something soft the girl squatted in her chiffon skirt, not caring for the bugs or sand.  she plunged her hand deep into the infinite ground and pulled out a firefly.  recurring the poor creature she hushed him inside.


are explanations really necessary? do we even expect them anymore? most are to spare unfair feelings of the typically mundane.  others pure laziness for pointless words rather not repeating.


some, some are lies.                                               


maybe the explanations we'll try.

the day after Christmas.  her last night in the fairy nest.  boxes piled the walls,  books and dried roses littered every surface.

the girl sat in the living room and cried.

her treasures left and her nest empty.  L said goodbye to each wall.

she watched her life move again.

returning back to her childhood home.


piles and piles of clothes and dried petals accompany the girl. back to nurture.  to remember.  to grow new memories while father works away.