Daily Prompt: Fierce

via Daily Prompt: Fierce

Fierce.  Like the maw of a lion.  The sun, this summer has been.  Beating down so relentlessly I want to jump into its mouth and fry like those little crisps you eat there in that cold and drizzly country of yours, or on the subway train, the sweaty half dead commuters  littering the floors with the tiny greasy crumbs. That’s how you feel sometimes when there is no rain and you think you will never see it again. You wander the villages and dirt roads half-naked and ashy grey with a little tin plate hoping to catch just one little drop and keep it there, a tiny teardrop of a lake on a plate you can lose yourself in.

Then suddenly July turns into August and September and the maw opens up but this time gushes rain and rain and rain until you want to go back into the maw of fire and never leave.

It was so cold today when I left work and walked outside. I saw some leaves turning red at the top of that tall tree.  It was too breezy and children I see are going back to school.  The trains the buses the cars and the roads are packed again.  Soon there will be that unbelievable sharp blue and gold crispness and appleness again.

Oh where did it all go, the summer fun of beaches and water and picnics? The long leisurely walks among the fragrant rose arbors,  and those roses, in all those lipstick colors and the waving and tossing of all the summer flowers. Waving hello and goodbye and hello and goodbye again.

Caught in the rain yesterday walking in the park with my groceries.  No one there.  The trees massive and happy and the shrubs wide and deep like walls for giants to leap…the air misty and shadowy and I could be in England in that grand London park or I could be in the Cotswolds chasing rabbits again by that meandering brook or by Dylan Thomas’ “holy streams”.

I walked through masses of goldenrod six feet tall mounds of black-eyed Susans, whole prairies of them, the Helianthus, all manner of the black and brown-eyed sunflowers like models strutting down the golden highways of America saying hello and goodbye and hello and goodbye again.

The rain fell harder and harder and the gold all around me was honey and amber and yellow cartoon crayons, golden chariots of fire, golden gods, girls and boys, and the gold was so  gold and the yellow so yellow….. if you don’t think you like yellow walk in this field now of golden-hued flowers,  the susans the sunflowers and the robin blue ones, like late delphiniums hiding.  As though a piece of  blue sky shattered and crumbled itself in.

The gold the gold the gold of that fierce and fiery voracious sun the sun I cursed on July and August  noons,  the unforgiving sun has given me this tumbler of gold dust this forest of filigree this carpet of moon this wet yet fiery afternoon and home I go lamenting already the sun the massive fierce maw of the lion the piercing eyes of the sky watching watching watching you and the beating of my heart is so loud so rough so pulsating the whole rainy golden park is one fierce scream of unspeakable joy……

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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About O

I live in a suburb of an American City. I write to try and understand myself and the world around me. I love nature, art, music, literature and beauty in all its forms. I think the world is crazy and many of us will soon go insane from living in this world. What I love almost more than anything is my garden. I love its trees its shrubs and its many flowers. I love the birds, their flying and singing and dancing movements in and out of the sky and garden. Their freedom. I could watch birds all day long, though sometimes they act horribly, and fight and squabble over the birdbath, seeds, and space just like people. As do other animals, and sometimes you wonder if anger, violence, greed and chaos, really has to be part of life, and why. I love to work in my garden. To get muddy and dirty, digging, weeding, mowing, pruning and deadheading. Then, I like to have a cool glass of white wine or red, or sometimes a Manhattan, and drink in hand, I walk around and look at the fruits of my labor. My blog is whennothingworks because for a long time nothing has worked. Friends, family, jobs, money, fame, houses, careers, lovers, things--- it all just doesn't work sometimes, or most of the time. The garden always works. Nature and its beauty always work. Whatever your garden is and wherever it is. My garden always gives peace, delight, calm, majesty, and beauty. And, in my garden, I can sit quietly and think, or just breathe, and somehow manage to survive the world.
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