The absence of snow wakened me last night. The edges of the earth were folding inwards, and the trees were rattling their dry bones.
I thought I saw a stranger hunched in the corner; I thought I saw a forgotten bit of sanity scuttling across the floor.
The feeling I was lying in the wrong bed presented itself to me and then refused to leave. With infrequent breathing, I lay and listened to the sound of nothing humming somewhere in the distance.
I told you not to wake me til my eyes are blue, I mumbled at the blank, dim expanse of ceiling.
The sheets were taut over my body: a cocoon, a straitjacket. I found them comforting: knowing they, at least, would hold me forever.
My thoughts hopped around the room, with heartbeats as delicate as those of winterbirds.
Oh, how silent the birds are, was the last thought to slip across my mind, as once more I slipped into a sea of uneasy sleep.
{Though not what originally inspired this piece, I dedicate this post to the wee hours of the morning and my tendency to wake up during them and exist in an incoherent state, where I am technically awake, but still asleep in many ways.}
{Photo is the cover of Jesca Hoop's EP, Snowglobe.}
Have I mentioned how much I love the colour green? When asked what my favourite colour is I never reply "green" since my favourite colour is actually blue. But still, I love green. I think I forget that, though. Because saying "I like green" is so flat. It doesn't convey the vitality of green that I love, the spectrum of shades that emblazon nature. I love the profusion of green from trees in our backyard; they almost blot out everything else. I love the bucolic green of fields or freshly-mown lawns stretching out like neatly-made beds. I love the darker green of forests when we're driving down the road whose density seems to drench the air in green so it almost feels like being submerged in an ocean. And I love the light, almost aquatic green of his eyes whose hue I cannot find in nature... The list goes on.
{This picture is crummy but it kind of shows the effect of the green density I was talking about above. I am reading Tender Is the Night and Fitzgerald mentions the trees making a "green twilight". I could only sit there and mentally curse F. Scott for being able to casually put into words what I had found ineffable. I suppose that's why he's legendary and I'm not. ;)}
Speaking of green, one of my absolute most favourite albums is Colour Green by Sibylle Baier and this time last year I was listening to it a lot. Colour Green is an album of understated beauty and it's one of those albums I know like the back of my hand. (Aren't those the best?) Also, it has an interesting story behind it which, in a nutshell, is this: armed with her guitar and a renewal of a sense of life's beauty after a period of depression, Sibylle Baier wrote and recorded the songs on Colour Green secretly in the early 70's. Years later, thanks to her son and Orange Twin records, people all around the world can enjoy the quiet beauty of her album. {You can read a longer post I wrote last year about it on my music blog, if you want.}
Not only do I love Sibylle's music, but a picture of her had a very important impact on me...
{I love this picture. I love how her face is out-of-focus but you can still see how beautiful she is. I love how you can see in the mirror what would normally be hidden. I just love it.}
In this instance, a picture is worth much more than a thousand words. For once, when looking at this photo, I found myself wondering who the person you could see taking the picture was. All the sudden, I found myself giving birth to a story. I decided the person holding the camera was, indeed, a man and the story I was writing became his memoir, of sorts. A memoir full of memories of the girl he loved (who I based on Sibylle). I also drew a little bit of inspiration from her lyrics. Especially from the first song on the album, 'Tonight'. I knew he was the man she mentions in the lyrics, who she dedicates her song to.
{You can listen to the song, 'Tonight', if you'd like! Though, the first time I heard her music I thought I didn't like it, heh.}
I've been writing this story/book/novel/whatever it is on and off for about a year and a half now. There have been times I've set it aside, sadly frustrated at my incompetence. Even now I think it is no good, really and rather boring. Not to mention way past my youthful knowledge. I'm writing about subjects that are so difficult to pinpoint: depression, the sanctity of marriage, what it means to love someone... And, to top it off, it's narrated by a man! I'm not sure I'm sufficiently able to get into a man's brain! (Which sounds... really strange. :P) Since most of the story is handwritten or typed on my typewriter, the narrative will break off every now and then to the anguished author (moi) typing or writing things like "OH, THIS STORY WILL NEVER BE ANY GOOD." With notes under that saying things such as, "Ignore the author, please. She is crazed." (As you can see, writing with me is a rather schizophrenic affair!) But even as I am wracked with insecurities, I have, for the most part, greatly enjoyed writing this story. It is nowhere near being done but originally it was just supposed to be a short story! I know nothing will probably ever come of it. But I've loved telling their story and I guess that's all that matters. :)
Alright, I don't even know why I am rambling on about all this. Terribly sorry if it's not very interesting. I almost considered not posting this but I spent too much time on it for that. *deep sigh* (Pardon, I'm feeling kind of frustrated today and unable to cope with/accomplish anything. On a happier note though, I vanquished Mt. Chaos yesterday!)
