28 April 2012
DIARY, IZVOR (SPRING)
The air conditioning vent can’t bear to look at me, lazily tosses its tumultuous breeze up to the glum upholstery, until I triumphantly jam a sun-bleached gas station receipt and packet promising the exile of garment stains into its cradle and funnel the cooled air towards my bare collarbone. Ah. Winter’s gooseflesh, for the sweat of summer’s torch, I sit patio-side, svelte ankle propped upon one knee, observing the suicide of soft petal blooms from a flowering bush, a rustling of detachment, a slow swan dive battered by branches. Belated intervention.
Nights in delirious elation. Seas I am swimming. I am growing, growing. My mind, my soul. Grown-ups are a myth, you know. Who are we to declare that we cannot grow anymore? Grow your hope, your compassion, your courage. Grow your knowledge, your tolerance, your spirituality, your love. Plant these things within the garden beds of your being, treat them with tender patience, resilience. Deeper, deeper, dig. Crucified with flaws, we are resurrected.
Photos by Amber Ortolano