photography and muses

basically something that has been sitting in my drafts for way too long. I meant to put it into a short story, but that never happened.
// or the random, incoherent ponderings of life and love and words

Photography has never been my forte, but sometimes I wish it was. In moments of clouded dawns and pooling leaves, I long to just take the perfect snap - lights, camera, action - and save the beauty of the image before me forever. I mean, sure, I have my words, but it is far harder to carry them around than it is a camera.

If words were visible, you'd see them all around me. They weigh me down, stuffed in my pockets and leaking from my shoes. Sometimes, it takes ages to fish around in my buckets of terms and observations. They crowd my room in stacks and piles, gathering dust like falling snow. They mostly build to the ceiling in lonesome towers, but occasionally I revisit them. When that happens, I tug out the card with the words I like and the tower collapses in on itself, ruinous, leaving huge dusty ripples of expressions and idioms.  

Some words are my best friends. I bring them up in conversations and keep them close to my heart. Some words are passing fancies, catching in branches before running back into the fray of wind. Some are like songs, left out in the garden and brought back in after months; damp, tarnished, but still fondly listened

That isn't to say I don't appreciate words. When you bury yourself in something like this, your eyes become wider and brighter. It's no longer appreciating the beauty of things, but the beauty in things. I'm not sure when white hairs turned into salt-and-pepper hair, silver dabbed at the temples, or stars washing out in to scalps, but it did. Perspective changes when you dabble in creativity, in the best of ways.

 I sit and ponder for a moment. Love is simple, it's just that simple. It is an act of undefinable care. It's people who complicate it; people, time, moments. Love individually is sacred simplicity, but it is never individual, and so everything else complicates it.

Like death, for instance. Death is - effortless, uncomplicated. It, too, is an act, and while in itself it is simple, everything around it bleeds from it. Death causes pain, and freedom, and humanity, but it is not any of these things. It is just death - the ending of life. 

Ah, life. Life isn't so easy. Life isn't individual, either. Life is like the universe and all other things mixed together. Like lemonade, I suppose. Some people get too much lemon. Others get a classy touch of pepper. Some even have mint and dye themselves green. It's never the same. It's always a combination of all the little things; love, people, time, moments, death. Life consists of so many entities that it is a nonentity, and without any of these entities - such as death - it doesn't retain its value.

My eyes unglaze and find themselves looking at at tree on the street. On a high branch, there is a nest. On a lower branch, a figure is hanging lackadaisical. It is, I realize, a dead bird, hanging by its claws.



The End

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