Rhyme79again
She pedalled hard against the wind as it bit into the soft edges of her body. The ridge road was especially hostile this morning as she battled stiffly through the mist, doing her best to wheel around the puddles that would suddenly come upon her.
How many times do I have to tell you? How many ways do I need to explain? There is an unspannable rift, an uncrossable void. And it’s all your fault. You chose to make the journey and now there is no way back.
I remember a poem.
It's a love poem and one my friend shared with me as he was falling in love.
"And I was desolate"
The poet was desolate before they found their love and desolate without them.
And now whenever I hear that word I think of that poem, my friend and a painting he loves by Jack Vettriano called Dance Me To The End Of Love.
And as she raised her head to speak, a sudden hush became thick in the room. He stared as she took a breath and formed her lips into a gentle 'O' shape, and then she began...
She picked up the feather and put it in her hair, tugged on her earlobe and took a deep breath. She turned around to face the edge.
A void of fog.
So high.
An invisible border.
A panorama of possibilities.
He held out his phone, hit the panorama button on the camera and slowly started to rotate. He was taking it all in, making a record forever. A photograph of a widened horizon.