Raspberries in Water [12]

You’ve seen it before, haven’t you? Floating around on the ether.

Tell me you’ve seen it?

A startle of light.

That’s the only way it can be described.

It tells the secrets of the universe.

Or at least this galaxy.

The earth spins around in space, you see. The stars are distant suns.

And when you think about the earth, do you think it’s a spaceship, that we are hurtling through the black vacuum of space?

Or is it an ecosystem of itself?

The Sahara desert is a graveyard of ancient plankton. It used to be a sea that dried up, and the sand is the old seabed.

Five thousand years old, it is said. Every day at noon, the winds lift the sand particles, really the ancient plankton particles, into the air.

And carries the particles over the globe we call earth to the Amazon rainforest, where they melt into the millions of raindrops that saturate the earth in that part of the world. The ancient plankton particles contain iron and essential minerals for life, for fertilisation, for the rapid growth of the thick undergrowth in the Amazon.

A whole entire world, yet all of its parts conspire to create one heaving, breathing being.

Do you think the earth breathes?

Stars

I am challenging myself to write a post every single day in May, to kickstart my writing again. I will be following some prompt words that I ‘stole’ from somebody on instagram. Here is my second post.

There were three stars, in a straight line. And they followed her wherever she went. Up North, down South. In the Eastern hemisphere, where the world was tropical and the heat and humidity battered her body until she oozed from every orifice. In the Western hemisphere where the days were icy and short and then terribly, terribly long. Every night, three stars in a row.

If she looked up at the sky her eyes searched and searched for three in a row, just like that.

She didn’t know what they were called, or if they were part of some larger constellation. Scrap that, who cares for the constellations.

As long as there were three stars just like that. Just that, as long as there were those stars. She didn’t know what came after that. Just that she had to see them.

When she learned about space it was always with awe. A deep expanse of blackness and nothing and airless floating, containing worlds of light and gas. Black holes bending time and space, folds of dimensions expanding and contracting. Complex and unnerving, terrifying and beautiful.

But when she looked up, all she could see were the stars. Her three stars, amid a myriad of others. Sometimes more, sometimes less, depending on where she was.

Dependable. From her safe haven on earth.

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Love Letters #32

When she looked over the edge of the mooring, she saw the sky. She saw an infinite galaxy of stars spinning away from her in the gentle ripples prodded along by the breeze. Her toes careened a little, so filled with wonder was she, and she felt herself falling ever so slowly forward. Or maybe the sky was surging ever so slowly towards her.

The heavens spread out before her, beneath her feet, and she was suddenly rendered so insignificant in the midst of this surreal vastness. And the universe was still, silent, except for that thrumming background noise one hears even in the depths of the womb. The thudding continuum that is time and space and the place we all come from, and recognise, but are not fully aware of. The sound we all know, and when we hear it we suddenly stand still, recognising the call, but not quite understanding it.

The world behind her fell away; growing more distant with each moment that passed by. Her ears were ringing, almost, and the sounds on the wharf behind her faded. The clank and the medley of voices, human, living, all became something of the … past?

And what would happen if she succumbed to this unearthly sound, coming from the stars, and let the ripples carry her away?

 

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