Bird As Fish

Whistling can be heard in the distance. And two quick rings on a bicycle bell. Coming round the corner, an older man pedals vigorously, long white beard flapping in the breeze. He is happy enough to be cycling along, and is going at a good pace, looking like he has to be somewhere soon, and rushes to get there, but is glad to be pedalling away. Once in a while he lifts his sandaled feet high in the air and shouts "Wahooo" to the entire sky.

It is fairly dark, to be sure, but passing by a nearby galaxy lights up his blue and chrome vehicle. Even in his busy state he still stops to stare at it, beautiful as it is. Continuing on though, for he must reach his destination, he climbs back on the bicycle and starts down the hill toward the Milky Way. Entering the subdivision, he shakes his head at the thought of trying to navigate through cosmic suburbia and instead takes out a map that guides him right to the place. Ah yes, he nods his head, putting the map away and, all comets aside, heads down to the little blue planet.

©2003 All Rights Reserved MJ Jackson
This article may not be copied in whole or in part without permission from the author.

Deep down in the marshes there
They stir and cry and fly through air
White birds with wings and long black bills.
The mist holds little to the tops of hills

That show themselves around black grass.
Far therein the marshes vast,
Something there that no one knows
That wind it stirs but does not show

What lies in there amongst the reeds
What stirs the birds up in their sleep
Around the pools and muddy tracks
What holds the mist until the last.

That day that passed was sunny, sweet.
With crooked cane like crooked feet
The old man walks with toothless smile
Passed by the water isle to isle.

By his side the poor blind man
Was held strongly by little hand
Attended by his daughter small
Who helped him walk and not to fall.

The air was fresh and blowing cool,
The water looked so full of jewels
As golden light it caught the air
It was not much to bear.

They hear cries near greying trees
A man is sitting on his knees
A darker man holds knife in hand
And shifts his weight on soggy land.

Then without a sign of grace
Blood it covers the low man's face
Spilt all across the soggy mound
And down upon the marsh's ground.

The child she cries now out with fright
And runs away with all her might
The dark man comes with knife he holds
To reach the flailing man there, old.

The blind man tries to save the girl
But she is gone far from the hill.
He reaches to protect his heart
From that sharp, needling dart.

"M'aidez" she cries with frightened sound
To man who's helpless on the ground
Who canst but speak a simple phrase
That he'd remembered from older days

To bring up water, ice, or fire,
Whichever one was his desire
And never turning back again
Would become his allied friend

To help him in his time of need
To never more another heed
He brings up words forgotten long
And rhymes them slow, no tune or song.

Pained he lies up on the hill
His thoughts are only with the girl,
The girl who hides with silent fear
From the evil man out there.

The fog begins in valleys low
And climbs up higher, taller, more.
It climbs in spite of golden sun
And to curse the darker one.

When piles have reached the hilltop peaks
And reached up to the blind man's feet
It stops
And there quite still he lay,

Calling now and once or twice
For little girl who coming might
Help him stand up to his feet
And rescue him from coming sleep.

But still he lies in deeper marsh
Covered now by reed and rush
Overflown by quick white gulls
Who answer him with simple calls:

"Give us back our golden days
The sun it now is only grey.
It's coming now the blanched dawn.
The girl she's gone and long been gone,
Forget her now. You really ought
Only think of misted thoughts
As we do.
As we do.
As we do.

© 2003 All rights reserved MJ Jackson
This article may not be reproduced in whole or in part without the permission of the author.

I have a picture hanging right above my bed and in it, the sky is such a perfect colour of blue, and the clouds pass by, endlessly it would seem. There is one hill stretching from one side to the other covered with queen anne's lace, toadflax, salvia, and chicory and it looks like it might be the very end of the world, where no one has ever been before. It looks like I might be the very first one to see it. And I wish it were a window, instead of just a simple picture, a window that I could open and feel the breeze on my face, where the day shadows move and change instead of being forever frozen in place, where the clouds made many different things. I wish it were a window that no one else knew was a window, and I could keep the place pure and virgin, and watch it from the prison of beige walls and know that I wouldn't have to stay there if I didn't want to.

© 2003 All rights reserved MJ Jackson
This article may not be reproduced in whole or in part without the permission of the author.

So Dale and I talked to each other, and believe it or not, he apologized, and sincerely. He said that it was his fault, and that he wished it hadn't happened. He wished he hadn't been so stupid. But he reminded me that every other time we had been together we'd had so much fun [totally true - lots of laughing and good feeling all around], and asked me if I'd give him a second chance. I was totally blown away by his honesty and his humility. He actually admitted he was wrong, instead of trying to deflect it and saying that somehow it was my fault, or it was less his fault. So blown away was I by his apology that I said I would give him a second chance.

So we went to his apartment to make a nice dinner. He teased me the whole time about being a little housewife and about how I should do all the dishes when we were done. We made cheesy garlic mashed potatoes, mmm, and teriyaki pork loins [no fat, no bone, grilled to perfection], and I can't even describe to you how much fun it was, being that there was no real reason that I can put my finger on. I made sure the table was all set, nicely, and made a big deal about how it should be set symetrically, and how we needed the red pickled jalapeno peppers on the plate at exactly the right spot, to add that nice coloured touch.

Then we turned the lights down low, and put a little white candle on the table as the centrepiece. Altogether, very romantic. He said, "Well, now that I can't see my dinner, let's eat." He's quite a funny guy, and entirely too adorable when he smiles. He has these little wrinkles by his eyes that scrunch up, and he looks inescapeably happy.

In between dinner and desert, we were going to do the dishes, but I was much too full, and being full always makes me tired, so we sat on the couch, for a little while, and I was quite surprised when he said that he didn't want to do anything to disrespect me, he didn't want to get carried away, but I hugged him and kissed him, in a gentle happy way.

What good, happy days I have been having recently, and I don't know why I am having such good luck, but it makes me smile so. I just feel so relaxed and happy, like not having to do anything, and that is a good thing. Maybe I have been so tense for so long, that good days make me so free, and I can hardly believe it.

© 2003 All rights reserved MJ Jackson
This article may not be reproduced in whole or in part without the permission of the author.

I wrote this in the summer and have just recently found it. Although it may seem a contradiction to what I have recently written about in "The Rights of Home", they both express different aspects of myself, so it all pans out in the end.

I have these dreams of being a runner.
And I can run and run, far and fast until I am where I should be, far away from here.
These dreams last for so long, pleasurable, I engage in them until the last breaking moment of slumber,
And run and run.
The exhilaration, the pure exhilaration of solely
Me
Sky
Road.
Solely these things,
The sky, my blanket.
The road, my purpose.
(I cannot stay here, my feet positively itch.)
And I run for hours,
For days,
Until in my dream I cannot remember all the places I have been - towns, hills,
There have been too many.
All I can think about is the road, and how much I love it.
And I leave and walk away.
So many times and everytime I want to stay away for good.
Give me the road.

© 2003 All rights reserved MJ Jackson
This article may not be reproduced in whole or in part without the permission of the author.