Light Weave

Lightless stories
woven from the heaviest fabric
in rough linen, scratchy
with tags of the past,
still unremoved after several eclipses
of sweaters pulled over heads
and hair mussed up by woolen static
in the eternal winter of space
where threads unravel quietly,
uncovering more silent moons
to orbit dead eyes
in sighing haloes and singing stars
covering the knit lightyears of scarf,
the rough tapestry
alive against cold cheeks.

My soul is a wolf.

My soul is a wolf, running over winter hills, traces in the snow, starlit;
aurora crowning me in green and gold and blue, ancient star-fire

– running with the storm, the clouds, towards a blood-red moon, dipped in gold and drops of silver,
running, running, breathing icy air, lungs on cold fire,
going, going, keep going, running through nights,

dark and starry velvet curtains parting like nowhere found in city walls, not anymore,
and the wolf keeps running.

~~~

Listening to Heather Dale while looking at pictures of beautiful stars, nebulae, and northern lights makes me feel my inner wolf again.

Does this ginger know how to ginga?

Scene in the grocery store, last Saturday when doing the weekly shopping with Darling: Me holding up a piece of ginger root, “Does this ginger know how to ginga?”

So yes, we had a capoeira workshop on Sunday. About half of the time we practised throwing each other to the ground in various ways (not all of these are true capoeira moves, but the mestre said we have to be prepared to encounter people who use these). And we practised kicking like a mule, literally. I can’t do a proper handstand, but somehow I’m able to kick someone in the stomach with both feet at the same time (and with a decent amount of precision) from standing on all fours. That part was fun!

Now I’m feeling ill (I did hang out with too many people having nasty colds over the last two weeks) and know I should get up from bed to check if the non-ginga-capable ginger would like to become a hot drink.

[insert leap in time of about 30 minutes]

… and yes, I really made myself some ginger tea. And ate a whole clove of raw garlic. Some smart person recently said that to get rid of a cold one should consume plenty of ginger, garlic, onion, and lemon. I don’t have any lemons at home right now, and I hate chopping onions, so the first two remedies and vitamin C powder will have to suffice for the moment.

blizzard rage (a haiku)

burning with cold fire

all the passion of blizzards
distilled in one glance

 

 

~

I was angry last night, because not for the first time some creepy guy followed me out of the train station and nudged me twice on the way. I hate it when strangers follow me and touch me to get my attention despite all of my attempts to signal disinterest. A cold fire in my heart.

And obviously I’m writing a lot of winter themed stuff at the moment. The next one or two will be about something different, I promise!

winter promises (a haiku)

winter promises
memories of warmer days
whispered in cold nights

~

A sequel to my haiku “the smell of winter”. Somehow the words “winter promises” stuck in my mind and had to become part of something else. There is a bigger picture, but at the moment I lack the words to capture it in all its nuances, so an open, ongoing series of short pieces of writing is all I can try, following the random strings and paths my thoughts weave.

the smell of winter (a haiku)

fog and wood-fire
cold air full of promises
the smell of winter

~

My haiku for today. So much fog. It made the train ride across the arms of the river more interesting; I was hardly able to see any water, but the little banks of land with golden trees looked beautiful and mythical when appearing out of the fog, just to fade again. The scent of burning wood from some chimneys, the sharp cold in the morning just above zero degrees … it makes me feel alive.