Friday, September 11, 2015

This little slice of same






The light at dusk spills through our bedroom blinds, yellowed as the faded cotton of a vintage quilt. And there is dust. Copious dust, clinging to the blinds. The scent of freshly laundered clothes drapes like a curtain in the doorway. A red hummingbird feeder hangs from a copper chain outside the window. Feathered neighbors zip in and out, pausing, sipping, chittering, diving. Green and brown silhouettes against a backdrop of golden light.

It is the same light and it is never the same, each day a few breaths shorter. And these are the same birds, as much as I am the same, as yesterday, each of us several thousand breaths older. Together we inhabit this little slice of same, under an awning of rotting wood and concrete, beside a hanging basket of dying geraniums and a sycamore swaying in the breeze, on the corner of York Road South, on this ever-revolving, ancient earth we call home.







 

Linking up with Five-minute Friday, to the prompt of "Same."

 

5 comments:

  1. I love the imagery here. It makes me think of all the times I used to sit in the guest room on my grandma's farm, watching the light play over the floor in patterns that were the same and yet not. Blessings to you!

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    1. What a gorgeous memory to hold. I love it. Thank you for the kind words.

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  2. Lovely, poetic imagery. Even without the photos, I could picture your surroundings. Sometimes I forget to celebrate the *same* in life. Thank you for reminding me that there is beauty in the familiar...

    GOD BLESS!

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