Flights, flights,
Broken flights
Now become refugees
Under tear filled eyes. . .
There is nothing
Left of sight.
***
Story #1
BEDTIME WORRIES
*
The Story
I was born and raised in an orchard known by the name of Eden, 16th orange tree on the left, and all my future hopes had been Left there with the Ultimate Orange.
From what I can tell now, in this position of a painter detached from his painting, there was nothing that you have not already seen or built yourself about the way the orchard was structured, ruled or taken care of. It was just a world, though I recollect within the Garden there was a center of energetic emanation, in the shape of a circle of a small diameter, having the made-up features of a human Fun Fair and which they called, given its conceptual schema, the Wheel of Fortune. It had been designed long before I was born, and before most of the people I know of or inherited something from were born as well. Seen from the outside, the whole gizmo was looking like the clearing of a forest or like a woman's heart, at once shiny and shadowy, open and hidden behind her instinctual veils. Surrounded by a range of tall grown apple-trees, the Park was the Big Attraction for each of us, Eden inhabitants.
By the time I learned how to walk, so you can guess my steps were being haltingly taken my mind and my feet always tended to go towards the apple trees, green and inviting as they were, projecting their leafy silhouettes on the frowned face of the fall sky. I say "frowned face" because the sky was crying a lot that specific fall, and I could see its eyebrows of clouds turning purple or maybe violet, and then dark blue. But who could tell exactly how an angry face changes color, name the boundaries between serenity and gloom, since all you distinctly perceive with your inner eye is the anger…?