TheBanyanTree: White World by Youngblood

[LLDeMerlè]

This piece comes to mind, often, especially up here in the frozen north.
Enjoy.

LL


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White World 
 
I stand outside at dawn, smoking a cigarette.

The world is completely silent. Man is still awakening, safely and warmly
ensconced within his secure, impenetrable cocoon. He has not ventured forth
yet in disturbance of the natural order.

Silence. It is wonderful.

Whoosh, the wind says. In the distance a dog yelps once, twice. Then silence
again.

A delicious feeling of isolation overtakes me. Just me and the quiescence of
the morning, the whisper of the wind, the tiny voices of the ice crystals as
they crackle and snap, singing for the winter breeze.

The young mulberry bends low to the ground, completely overcome by the
weight of the frozen payload aboard its limbs. 

Tinkle, crack, pop, rustle. 

The wind whispers on its journey. The ice crystals respond in chorus. I have
not seen icicles on the trees for many a moon. Glistening in these
prepubescent hours, they transform my world to white on white.

I reach up and break an icicle from the cypress tree near the door. Popping
it into my mouth, I am transported back to another day, another time, when
as I child I could not get enough of Nature's lollipops. I roll it around
cheek to cheek, feeling it diminish as its fragile consistency meets the
warmth of my mouth. 

The ice brings the flavor of nature to my tongue. I can taste the cypress. I
can taste the rain. I can taste the distinctive, yet intangible, ethereal
past of the universe. In my mouth I hold a portion of Earth's placenta. The
same moisture which nourished and gave birth to this planet now resides upon
my tongue, a winter treat. All too soon, it disappears completely. Now only
the memory remains. The memory and the flavor.

Gradually the light of day makes itself known. Little by little it creeps
upward from the horizon into my silent, transcendent world, dragging
evidence of humanity behind it. 

A car pulls into the parking lot.

Then another.

Ellington Field comes alive as the KC-135 revs her engines at the entrance
to Runway 22.

I take one last drag off the cigarette and bid adieu, for the nonce, to
silence and to solitude's ineffable companionship.


youngblood, Sun 24 deg Capricorn 96 / Moon in Aries