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Hopeless Fusion
I had taken an account of any possibilities my path might bring. The gentle parallels of the rails seemed to provide a direction without any pretense. The forest blew green as it swayed in a dance. For miles I walked. The many hours without contact seemed secondary to the breeze across my skin. Only the continuing sound of the wind seemed interesting enough to feel having lost my destination long ago in the memories of how I had come to be like this.
Parallel lines lead me through a clearing in the canopy. Vermilion Fly Catchers with a pink-washed tummy chirped “P-PRIT-ZEE,” a bright-greenish Golden Vireo with a broad bright yellow eyebrow and underparts chirped “CHU- CHU” and other colored birds melted into the grasses of the clearing. Their swirling melted bodies formed puddles that flowed through the wild grass. Each blade swirled up in a plume of multi-color, which swirled over a canvas shaped as a house.
For many days, she had sat on the porch. Each sunrise brought a new summer dress with pristine white stockings for an audience of not a single Prince. During this time—the vegetation had grown rich and herself quite lonely from hours of painting her emotions across the clearing.
For a moment, I admired the movement of the colors across the white canvas residence. Before me the flowers swarmed back in seas of interpretive colors. The grasses hissed in frenzies of green and pollen that sprayed in the air. And there on the porch, masked behind the most beautiful wash—one lonely girl on a porch, in a summer dress with white stockings. She looked directly at me, a connection, born from the loneliness in her eyes and her boredom with color.
An overwhelming confusion came over me for I had long ago forgot there might be a destination along my path, a love to come home to. She stared at me, as some moments passed. I stood perfectly still, a stoic figure standing tall in a field of sway. To cross the clearing seemed offensive and rude; for the colors would part and be disturbed from their meditative state.
For a moment, you looked as though you could be…as we spread out in the white clover…till there were no more colors…as the sky curtains fell.
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Le Kaidan
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