Weaving Gold

Mokosha, Anastasia Sophia, and Me, Natalia . . . while the books are written

Staying Alive

IMG_1411I am somewhere; I’m not sure where. It doesn’t seem to matter. Nothing matters, and everything matters. This I’ve learned: there are two sides to every coin. What I want to know is, what’s in the middle? What’s between/inside the head and the tail?

I am somewhere; I’m not sure where. I see a pink sky and yellow trees. The path before me is purple. There is a hum-buzz in the air. I am immersed in a magical place, in a splendiferous time. I stand rooted, immobilized, magnified and compressified. I am taking in oxygen, but I can barely breathe. Nothing matters. Everything matters.

Shall I send down roots, plant myself here, now, stay forever, fornever? Shall I soar into the pinkness, munch the yellowness, and/or charge onto the lavender lane? Shall I breathe, once more, or shall I cease? Shall I listen, or bury my head in the sand? Am I to live in this Some I-don’t-know Where, or can I figure out how to creep, intrude, insinuate-infuse myself into the mysterious center?

Writing Prompt
“I am somewhere; I’m not sure where, it doesn’t seem to matter.”
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