I’m toning the body and flexing the mind and all the shit you’re supposed to do to keep on top of things while living a life you only half understand. We like our women pretty and their bodies tight and their thoughts subdued. The currency in beautified, petrified silence.
As I walk the winding windy streets alone, a shower of apple blossoms descends into my long strawberry hair and I reach to touch their smooth pink petals just as a gust of fresh spring wind rushes through and casts them away onto the hard concrete. It’s that time of year when you can wear heavy boots and a tee shirt, or a chunky knit hat and flip flops. It’s warm and it’s cool in equal measure at any given minute, all the while the sweet scent of lilac swirls on the pollen-dusted air along with hints of wood fires burning somewhere off in the distance.
And distance is all there is these days, ways to measure it, ways to deny or cheat it, in the hopes it won’t drag you down. There is sorrow in my heart and a pulsing heat in my veins. Because the seasons may change but life never does. It ends as breathtakingly mysterious as it begins, out of nowhere, out of sight, out of the mind of anyone or anything but a god we’ve been making up since the beginning of time. Was time always a thing or was it the human creature who made it up?
No star has need for it. No planet ever speaks of arriving late or dashing out early.
Doesn’t matter. All I can tell you for sure is that the light is growing in the mornings as well as the evenings and while this may be comforting for some it has a kind of menacing effect on me. The darkness I can understand, I know what it wants and I can soothe it by letting it enter me, fill me, have me. I know how to breathe for it so it will trust me.
But the light can be deceiving. Perhaps because no one expects it to be. She’s just like the springtime wind, she will lick you cold as ice and you won’t even see it coming.
Allison Marie Conway 
Reblogged this on The Reluctant Poet and commented:
Come and Enjoy This from Allison!!!
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🙏🏻🌹
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Always a joy and pleasure to read and share your posts with followers, My Dear! Have a great day!! xoxox 😘💕🎁🌹
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Another Great post, Allison!! Especially loved these lines:
“Because the seasons may change but life never does. It ends as breathtakingly mysterious as it begins, out of nowhere, out of sight, out of the mind of anyone or anything but a god we’ve been making up since the beginning of time. Was time always a thing or was it the human creature who made it up?”
xoxox 😊💕💖🌹
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Thank you ever so much, I am so grateful to know these lines touched you. 🙏🏻🌹
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Yes, your words always have a way of whispering to me, Allison!! That means they are powerful and moving!!! So love to read your posts! Bellissimo!
xoxox 😊💖🌹🌹
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So powerfully expressed. And as ever, your choice of words remarkable. “The currency in beautified, petrified silence.” Evoking images of statuesque Greek perfection. Lifeless stone. Be perfect, fulfill your role, your man-given duties. But more than that–a role for a woman imposed by men AND women over ages and ages. Time passing, life fossilizing. Where is the change? Where is the chance to be different? To be undefined? My God: “The darkness I can understand, I know what it wants and I can soothe it by letting it enter me, fill me, have me. I know how to breathe for it so it will trust me.” Even in the images you choose to accompany your writing, so often light frames a central darkness. Light touching, caressing even, yet often unable to enter.
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The richness of this comment, and your razor sharp precision in choosing just the cuts of this small work that are its central themes, is nothing short of remarkable to me, dear George. You use the word “fossilizing” which all the while writing the opening of this, was on the tip of my tongue, or fingertips, as it were, but for whatever reason did not actually use. There is so much more here, the suggestion of excavation, digging, those perfect statues covered and buried in ancient lava, ruins, ashes. But you attend so astutely to my images of darkness. The threat of penetration by the light. And yet it is in me, I feel it like fire, that light, it is baptismal almost. I fear it and protect it.
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Light and dark are such enduring metaphors. So easily employed, but often in a western sense of good and bad, in contrast to something a bit more Tao, let’s say. But this is you. I would never expect the superficial approach from you, dear Allison. Life is not about choosing the light over the dark, but about exploring, suffering, laughing, and indeed pulsing through both. I prefer to think.
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