The light of the stars just lit up the darkness of the night. A fire in front of his eyes crackled sincerely. He saw. He saw the spirits of the flames dancing against the darkness and telling the exact same story, repeated unaltered through the centuries of what it meant imprisonment and what it meant freedom.
He remembered his teacher, the words that sometimes repeated him:
“One day you will see them … They dance, dance in the fire” Continue reading “In the Dunes”
There was music that night at The Drunken Barrel. With your eyes lost in the void, you were absorbed to follow the thread of the notes and that absolute void between your thoughts.
You were so fragile my friend. A little bird fallen from the nest. With your dark eyes, red lipstick, too red, eyelashes well highlighted, with all that rimmel, and the cheeks flushed with blush.
Your black hair framed your face. And even if you seemed lost and alone in your world, your heart was beating fast, one hundred and twenty beats per minute, as if you were on the street running at breakneck speed in the fog. Continue reading “Lauryn”
The light of the sun, when it rises, always reminds me of your hazel eyes, the long eyelashes of those who knew how to dream, and your oriental smile of a boy born and raised in the Dragon’s land.
Indomitable heart, generous warrior with an open smile, an explosive laugh like the fires of the Chinese New Year. God had made you so beautiful, Lao Tsu, and even if you were just a boy, you were appreciated by the elders, and loved by the people of your village.
Defying sleep, every morning you came out of your little house, to go see the dawn, to fill your eyes with all that beauty. The bamboo canes, the ears of rice that came out of the lake, the sky that gradually brightened, and the Sun peeping out to the east, red and golden like a big orange. Continue reading “Lao Tsu”
I liked looking into your eyes when you were absorbed watching out from the window glass. You still looked like a child, with that expectation that shone in your face, hidden just by the collar of the wool coat.
With your brown hair, long enough to frame your face, and the clear eyes of who after all, in spite of everything, had never betrayed himself. How old were you? Thirty or ninety? You, who had lived experiences, and always fell in love with everything.
You waited for the first snow, as a blessing, as a good reason to cry, to hope, to believe in the return of something, that you knew to have left, like everything else, in the river of time… Continue reading “The First Snow”
We breathed heavily through the forest. Clouds of white steam came out of our mouth. Bows and arrows on the shoulders, the fast pace of our steps. We followed the trail of the Sacred Deer, Lord of the Woods, walking for days to his search.
We had interrogated the runes to know where to go. Where was Madim, the Sword of the Force, the weapon that carried the Ancient Warrior? The sword that had hidden the Druids in the forest.
The runes had answered us saying to look for the place where the Sacred Deer rests, down there, near the Source. The Sacred Deer, the Spirit of the Wood, the Keeper of the Forest. Nobody had ever seen him… Continue reading “Following the Sacred Deer.”
I remember the dust, dry on clothes, glued on me. The desire for a warm place, protected from the cold winds of winter … interminable was our journey. My wife walked quiet and silent. A heavy bundle balanced on the head, and our little Isaac on his back, three weeks of life, tied tight with a white linen band.
Sometimes my wife sang a sweet song, to cradle the baby during the journey. So he was at peace, my little gift of Immense, my child. His dark eyes watched the world all around him, and on his little face two dimples dug out of the habit of a smile.
We were already three days’ walk away from our village, but I was still restless, worried. I could not stay. We heard voices of the occupation brought by enemy troops a little further to the north. In the assaulted villages the men were killed and the women reduced to slavery. I had to protect my family. Continue reading “Isaac’s laughter”
Shortly before the shadow enveloped the world in her mantle, on the longest night of the year, at the gates of Winter, I watched the fire so that it did not go out.
The party we would have celebrated, shortly thereafter, would have warmed our hearts. The cider from the recent harvest would have reddened our cheeks, and the good beer, aged in larch barrels, would have us singing, all night long, until dawn.
I had polished the bagpipe that my father had taught me to play, that I was little more than a child, and I was going through the notes of my dearest songs.
I wanted to stay awake, to play, to sing, to wait the great Spirit of Winter! Continue reading “Waiting for the Spirit of Winter: the longest night”
