Sunday, January 29, 2012

Half a dozen of hills. [#34 - Lord of the Hill]

There are half a dozen of hills surrounding the Valley of the Starlings. Farmers do jokes about it and call them "the brown beasts" that always sleep and never are in silence. As a child I did not understand this way of calling the low-lands and their irrational superstitions. I can not understand how a landscape, whatever it is, sleeps forever and never shuts up.
Perhaps it is a mountain that can talk!? Oh! green forest that loves the mystery and joyful questions! 

I was very young, I guess. 

One time in a long sultry summer without breezes or rain, I remember walking in trail between the lovely creek and the very ancient castle's walls. It was always a opportunity to read my thoughts to myself. These anxious thoughts as old as a beautiful book, that still today I have and do not stop bothering me... I say discomfort because just I want a little silence.

A deep rustle came in front of us, and made the river totally dry, as dry as it can be in my memory today;  soulless body of sand and shells, but fortunately for a short time. My river! Oh that scary! After the first event, a folia of very fast harmonies was heared through every corner of the valley. Tens of blackbirds flew up away grinning and grinning; all of them flew up beyond their dark homes and they sang with fun: It is not silent! They are not in silence! Their dreams are like attractive colourful missals, glorious and ceremonial as well distressing. These are the low-hills, a landscape with breath and rhyme, they might have souls! They are beasts although they sleep talking!

I was very young, I guess.

Saturday, January 28, 2012

Foggy lines in the city-scape. [#33 - Lord of the Hill]

The giant monster of steel and steam screamed his desperation to leave out the place, far away. The smoke was white, very white and drew some puzzles in the back of the station. Since very early in the evening passengers were squeezed between the platform and the long line of wagons; it was a beautiful train, long and with armchairs upholstered in emerald green silk. She was not where she was suppose to be. She did not want to be here.

<> Your Excellency,  can you tell us where had you been yesterday afternoon? Where and how long, please? Please?

Lord Konrad stared at the mirror in front of him, with its' smooth edges nonetheless a very good job, almost like the dress she loved to wear, simple and predictable, as an informal farmer style, non convinient for these complex environments of town. There is nothing beyond the mirror except the discrete effect of their own sadness and pain. Because there is pain in the shame of knowing alone with oneself, without the warm caress that a woman in a pure state knows how to offers.

<> Please, say what you know! Do not make us wait any longer! Do not you understand that His Excellency should colaborate?!

Many drops of light as mysterious stars in distant skies came to him, face to face. It was a paradise of tiny flowers in her hands, and hidden breasts like a warm home. A home between the hills around an anonymous castle so far away of here. "I am not who I am... or was she who finally has been and I did not see it. I'm just a trace in the history, in time... And she is gone..." These are thoughts born in a chair, face to face with destiny.

<> I did not see... or must say that I saw it, but it was only like the poorest remembrance of the beautiful woman who had been.
I did not kill her! I swear! She had taken in her hands the will to change their fate. Why? I do not know or do not want to know anyway. For Love? Cowardice? No, no no! 

ha! ha! ha! ha! [An hysterical laughter hinted their misery] SHE only wanted to run a heavy punishment, to ME, to this man sitting in that gray station. SHE wanted to carve his own memory with pain in my soul. And SHE did, I know deeply that SHE did to ME.

Thursday, January 26, 2012

A magic forest in the room. [#32 - Lord of the Hill]

7:00 hours in a morning of blue lights and long red shadows;
are also the hours of
silent magic without words just a song.

There is a thick forest of columns and in the memory: a roof of waters,
no secret corners; almost harmonious at every glance, in every planet.

On either side of her, stories drawn from ancient times come;
so old legends that no one remembers, even though everyone knows.

It is the "maker of mysteries", a snowy face and kisses of sugar cotton;
is here and there, sitting at herself, dreaming of a new and happy world.

It is time for the Gods' breakfast
here in the darker magic forest. 

A Golden Bough