Poetry & Stories

Foreign Landscape

The light comes up, reaching over the horizon with smokey tendrils weaving and wafting through the blue darkness of space.   I hear a voice, and it comes shrieking into my mind, shattering the silence so long imposed upon me in solar exile.   Someone is thinking.

Someone is thinking of me.  It is someone from the other side, and they are thinking of me.  Through vastness indescribable across the empty reaches of exile, exploding through the vacuum, screaming and poignantly pure, a thought.

A thought of a field, a daisy field full of green and yellow swaying in the morning.  A million years ago, before my exile into the dungeons of space.  A green daisy meadow surrounded by soft, rolling hills reaching up into a cool mountain forest.  A lush meadow bathed in the warm caresses of a mother sun and daisies looking in all directions so as to soak up the entire world and in turn bathe the world with rich reflections of the sun.

The sun, something I knew now only as a distant gleam of light in a distant corner of the sky, staring balefully out into space with the boredom of a cruel and desolate exile.  The sun, washing a distant world with life and providing me with only a reminder of what was, and what is without me.  She is there, and She is thinking about me.  A million years later and a million miles across nothing, she is there and she is thinking a thought.

A thought about a green morning meadow and a whole world alive with aliveness, shattering the silence to which I had so long ago become accustomed.

A thought about two tendrils of morning light weaving and wafting gently about,

a million years ago,

a million miles ago,

a million silences ago.

I am shattered by the noise.


(Written in 1989)

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