Tales from the edge of the morning sky

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This is a place of slow time, with a sky that reaches above a sudden, empty wind, with the hidden stars, turning beacons of light upon eons of eternity, above the pointing fingers of an ancient forest, and below, amongst the leaves and acorns, amongst the lengthening shadows of the last emptiness of summer days, there lies a small cup of life and this time, this now, is placed upon the cut branches of a broken tree. The cup is made out of wood, and yet it is transparent somehow, and through the gentle waves of moments that rock from side to side. And upon the surface, is a picture of the Sun flickering and fading flickering and fading across its face, rippling two pairs of wings lift up and pull the sky open, push back the stars below the trees to make the very earth bend and twist, and there, standing in the heart of things, between the here and now, there lies the simple truth.

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Six bells

It was upon the six bells tolling across the darkness that opened the day with a yawn, October stretched, shook, and chased the light rain off his skin.

It was cooler now. 

He passed his invisible hands through the pools of shimmering stars, sprinkling their light across his earth stained face, rubbed their promises of frost and early snow through his branches and wrinkles that creased the fields in lines and furrows, under the lightening dawn. 

The sun was late. 

He blew into his hands, cupped and folded in wings and songs of the earliest birds, and released a breath of wind and singing, that tickled the trees, whispered across deserted gardens, the abandoned flower beds and murmured across the flattened rooftops that glistened in  slates and steps against the forest edges.

The sun blinked, lifting herself up from blankets of fogs, forgotten faces of reflections, the puddles of tears, the mournful memories of a passing summer, washed in colours, clouds and drifts of leaves against the tall stretching oaks at the edge of the world itself, and blinking again, she flooded the earth in pools of gold and  light, her sisters in constellations and singing silence, hushed the night beyond the stillness and shadows to a passing dreaming of night.

And so October arose, reluctant and reduced, for November, he saw, was awaiting. He lifted his collars around his thinning neck, slipped into his shoes of mud, stone and earth, wrapped his cloak a little tighter about himself and walked towards the spilling light of the sun. He stumbled twice, as he stepped over the twinkling lights of homes and towns, the streets and roads, with their blinking buttons of moving lights. 

And heard the bells no more.

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Falling

With warm winds 

that bring each autumn, 

summer’s last breath 

falls across 

the fields,

October lies, 

fallow,

beneath the stars 

as gently, 

slowly, 

the season turns 

and bids 

farewell,

with winter’s call 

to yield.

For above 

and beyond 

the empty 

hands,

the crowning grace 

of trees,

a pale moon 

full, across the hidden 

the skies,

pulls the shadows 

behind the last 

of daylight,

turning life 

to greys 

and the changing

colours,

of forgotten 

summer leaves 

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Suddenly (Autumn)

All of a sudden, summer, picked up his bags of sun and flowers, and left along the garden path, beneath the blustery shadows of a billowing emptying, racing sky.

He turned to the hidden brook and glanced sadly at the rushing memories of what was, to what might have been.

And in the places between the two, he smiled to himself, and knowing far better, he shrugged at his reflection, pulled his cloak of low autumnal light tightly around him, and left the earth to shadows and sleep.

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She had called the emergency services. ‘A drowning,‘ she had explained when the ambulances arrived. This after the police car and officers arrived along the narrow one-sided lane, that led past the sunken church to the meadows, and then along the narrow pathway to the stretching curve of  beach.

She had explained the clothes, the abandoned shoes, the splash that had rippled in a sudden tearing of waves across what had now become an uneasy silence.

They had brought a sniffer dog that had taken the scent from the garments and then followed the wind blown footsteps to the very edge of the lagoon.

Officers had discovered the abandoned car parked in front of the churchyard and were puzzled by the pile of driftwood on the rear seat, a neatly carved wooden key ring, with the keys still left in the ignition.

‘So love, you heard the splash, found the clothes and heard a scraping noise on the beach?’

She had acknowledged this statement and was left wondering if he had heard her at all. 

It had happened. 

Her voice was still shaking, her stomach turning, Cassie was now running around confused and bewildered by all the commotion.

A small crowd of locals, hikers  and campers from the nearby site had gathered behind the constable who stood blocking the access to the edge of the water. His arms stretched as if he was saving them from an indelicate truth.

‘Yes, I thought I saw, I did see, a glimpse of something else above the tide, beyond the beach…’ she was certain, but doubted he would believe her. 

He scratched his ear, leaned forward and called into his Walkie-Talkie.

‘Call the ‘copter, we might need to look along the bar, across the beach…’ There was a muffled, cackled reply. He released the call button and looked over her shoulder at where the search dog was pointing.

Forepaw lifted, alert and frozen, the sniffer dog was clearly indicating something was awry. 

The officer again scratched his head, puzzled, uncertain and turned himself to look back at the car park, beyond the church.

‘It won’t be long,’he thought to himself,’until the whole world is watchin’ us again!’

Just then he heard a murmur from the growing crowd of onlookers, then a cry. He turned towards them all. He saw a huddle of shocked and surprised faces, mouths open, hands aloft, staring eyes and his constable turning his back to them all. Hands forgotten, arms akimbo, he gaped at what he saw. 

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October fields 

before the fall, 

ploughed deep 

and long

 ‘afore winters call, 

for the skies 

are wrapped 

in a thousand stars, 

of spring and time 

soon to be,

and remembered, 

in the stillness 

and passing 

of hurrying hours

beside the silent waves 

and restless sea.

And so to leave 

this month of days, 

the door, 

the windows open, 

the trees afire, 

in this dawn, 

the first, of winter 

to become, 

and wander the lanes 

alone and silent 

beside the moon, 

reflecting shadows 

of daylight, 

that fall too soon 

and matter to none. 

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Barrels and kegs, bobbed in a dispersed crowd of debris. The winds howled and raged, the sky stripped and torn, as the rising moon seemed to race across the beaches like ships overhead. 

They were knee deep in the waters that frothed and foamed around them. There were fewer cries of help now, the rocks just off shore, jagged and razor like, had done their worst. Men lay on the beach, dead or exhausted, bedraggled and bundled, like sacks of stones, flesh and sand.

Some lived, some were dead, eyes open, seeing nothing, faces frozen in masks of terror and oddly, he thought,  submission: the boundaries between life and death, broken.

They pulled sailors onto the shore, a few were strong enough to help them. The crates and bobbing casks of contraband they avoided, knowing their weight, worth and danger, even this close to the shore.

‘The last?’ He asked of Emily. She looked exhausted, her skin as pale as the ribbons of moonlight, her hair in waves and tangles of salt and seaweed. Her clothes pressed unseemly against her body, revealing every curve flattened and forgotten: her beauty crushed by the tide. He pushed his thoughts aside and asked again,’Emily, surely, the last, come let us sit, rest awhile and see, if who and any, are still alive.’

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The dog pulled on her line, her owner called her back, but she pulled insistently towards the pile of clothes on the narrow footpath. She walked along the edge of the fields most days, enjoying the changing weather, the patterned skies, the whisper of distant waves and the shining light of the sea.

‘What is it? What is it?’ She implored Cassie, as she pulled harder this time, her lead as taught and tense as her tail.

The dog whined. Then she saw the clothes. A distant, dull splash caught her attention as they both moved rapidly towards the unkempt and abandoned shirt, trousers and shoes.

Cassie sniffed and whined again, this time with her nose pointing through the still, moist air, over the lagoon, and the footsteps imprinted across the empty beach.

She looked over towards where she heard the broken waters, the splash that had ruffled her attention and concern earlier.

She screamed. Dropped the lead. Cassie immediately ran to the edge of the lagoon barking and then began whining: her ears flat, nose pointed and slowly began to growl in a low rumble of fear and concern.

‘What… did you see..Cassie come here at once!’

Cassie ignored her as they both heard the crack and scrape of something landing.

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She turned and for what seemed like an eternity she looked through him, the ghost of himself, back to the other place and time from where he thought he was from.

He could feel her bringing him into focus. He gaze like a lens bringing firmness and purpose to his own. Slowly, so slowly it seemed, her eyes recognised him. The distance of place and time fell away.

He was with her.At last by her side.

She beckoned to him. Her face turning from recognition, to hope, then madness, just as the storm itself. He lifted his eyes with hers, followed her pointing arm, beyond the thrashing waves and the wild frothing mouths of horses and out to the torn and broken sea.

With a great lurch and crash of timbers, a ripping and tearing of what seemed the very fabric of place and time, the ship crashed, rolled and roared, resting amongst the gales and scream of tide and wind upon the ragged rocks.

They held each other as the sailors jumped into the teeth of drowning waves and turmoil.

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She was on her knees now as he swam the last yards to the shore. He was exhausted, heavy and felt as much a part of the elements as he was within himself.

‘Perhaps,’ he thought out loud, ‘I was always here. Always now,’ he swallowed water, choked, the brackish salty water tasted like the metallic skies that raced over head.

Emily’s screaming pulled him from his introspection, and his focus wavered as the remaining waters pulled him towards the berm.

‘No! No!’ She screamed as the ship towered above her, a great, fragile skeleton, it’s sails torn, it’s masts broken like matchsticks. He could see it clearly, in every detail,  as he clambered, bedraggled up the slope, the leaning, rolling ship magnified by the lens of roaring air above the shifting shingle.

‘No! No! No!’ She cried out again, flinging her arms like branches of an abandoned tree in the gale, bereft of leaves and hope as she looked out to the anonymous storm and the raging sea.

He slipped and fell as he struggled towards her.

‘Emily! Emily!’ He shouted, fiercely against the rapture of the wind.

‘Emily! Emily!’

The stones were like heavy plates of inertia as her overcame his own and weight and seemingly the weight of the world he lifted himself into the full force of the storm. The raindrop were like stinging bullets, the wind raged against his very being, pushing, pressing, pummelling his body, his hope, his soul, as he stumbled towards her.

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