At the earth’s beginning to say it was loud, would be the most severe understatement ever contrived. A blinding noise that shook everything, a noise so loud you could not see or hear. Rocks crashed, lava spewed, and even the proteins mixing in the sludge pools to make life sloshed about. When the first magical beings saw what was going on he knew the noise must stop, or it threatened to deafen the whole world.
He did not want a world without human and nature’s music spreading into the galaxy bringing hope to endless worlds. So he did what he could not destroying the noise, but splitting it. As a conductor with his symphony he split it up, spreading it out across all of time. Giving voice to the piano, the tree frog, most humans, and even the crickets. Yet the earth still shook as the noise was not contained. His work threatened he chose that some lives would be the cost of the music he designed. As the cost of all magic is life. He created storms to harness the earths roar to imprison it in the sky.
Storms would kill humans, but would allow them to sing, destroy cities, but allow them to mourn, burn down forests, but allow them to be reborn. The silence can only be attained due to the destructive power, when the noise calls out from its lightning cage. Someday it will escape and devour our world, but until then we may listen to it rage. When the lightning flashes, or you hear a doorbell know there is a cost to the magical creatures spell.
THE HEARTBEAT OF THE MORNING MIST
He woke early exhausted and thirsty so he slumped to the kitchen for a glass, or three of water. His heart pounding with possibilities of the day before him. Knowing he was going to be able to make a difference, and then see the person who would make him happy with a mere smile. The sky was still dark, so he chatted with Brigid for a while, before looking out over the field of fog, the rustling dried field, and the dark blue grey sky above. Due to him not yet donning his glasses the far edge of his sight was the wood, the trees rising up and down shorter and taller as the slow growing heartbeat of the town. The dogs barked making his chance of going back to sleep impossible, so instead he took to his quill to write about his morning; as the sun rose burning away the nights remnants and the morning fog. Only leaving the cool chill air to remind him of the jacket he should wear, but will probably forget.
He blew the giant fan over the hot desert thinking only of her. His traveling Love traveling the globe seeing it all while all he saw day after day was sand. He worked on his body constantly to make it better for the one he has sought for years. While his heart waited to see her, she shared her longing for him through swirls of bright colors, paint splatters, glitter and pictures from the distant past. Their last departure from each other neither knew if they would ever again see the love in each other’s eyes; so they chose not to say goodbye, but instead had a long embrace neither turning, daring to look back at the love they could only hope to see again.
The man searched his life forever looking where he might find sleep. He searched for exotic mattresses from feathers, water, foam, barley, and gel. He searched from meditation to needles to prayers and once he even sought the wisdom of the high holiness the pope himself. Yet sleep fled from him as a mouse from a cat. He tried every pill from Ambien to melatonin none gave him more than a wink and a blink. He grew up wealthy and had exhausted every red cent searching for the peace and dreams the rest of the world had without trying. Even the poor and starving could sleep. This poor man grew weaker by the day and strangers swore he was old and ancient although his body was not a day over 25. One day on his travels he stopped in a warehouse to seek what beds they may have to bring him rest when he came across the most magical thing he had ever seen. A pink and white casket, such beauty could only be seen in the dreams of children and vanilla cake with pink icing. He walked up next to it to peer inside. It was velvet and soft and welcoming so he climbed inside his bones aching and creaking and he used the last of his strength to climb inside and find his eternal peace.
[James Merritt is a gifted writer of poetic sketches and vignettes. He lives in Maryland…and other places. His soul roams the universe. We are pleased to feature his work in Columnist With a View (columnistwithaview.com) We hope you will enjoy these recent word pictures.]