A single bluebell flower falls from the open bookshelf. Who had treasured it for so long? In the pages of which book? A book of poetry or dry theory? Had any one gifted that book?
Watch as it falls. Watch it. It isn't the dry flat papery thing anymore. It begins to bloom. Like a tire tube being inflated. Like embarrassment creeping upon fair cheeks. It is blooming!
Why is it that I ring your doorbell each day? Every day? And you let me in! Why? You talk to me for hours. You talk with me for hours. We talk for hours. Why? Is it me entering you, or are you penetrating me?
You look straight into my eyes. I look straight into yours. And I am baffled at this burst of yellowness. Blue rays colliding to become sunlight?! Whoever knew! Warm sunlight. Not harsh. Warm sunlight surrounds us. Warm sunlight drops to the ground, unsettling it, warming it. The brownness at our feet stirs, like tiny scurrying creatures.
I am distracted by what is happening by our feet. By its stirring. The eyes can deceive sometimes. But can the ground beneath truly lie? Of all colours, what does brown whisper to me? What does it have to teach me anything?
And are you a teacher too? I wonder what you will teach me.
The flower is in its fullest bloom as it nears the end of its flight.
It hits a flat grey stone on the ground.
The blue bell shatters to pieces.
My goodness, such beauty. Like scattering blue sunlight. Little crashing waves of glass.
And its sound?! Who knew a bell shattering would be so sweet, surpassing any and all goodness it did ringing and tolling?! Isssssh.
Gosh, catch the blueness. Catch the blueness with me. It is 5:14 AM and a blue sunrise for me. Share it with me in your sleep. Goodnight.
