he glistened white and black satin scales with transparent orange fins as I watched him swimming under golden sunlight in a Rosicrucian lily pond always playing with bubbles spilling from a triangular waterfall; sometimes I would read him stories from a book I’d always bring, sitting with him, while waiting for the others after breakfasts they’d half decide to eat. we became friends; I was four. he’d lift his head up to greet me; quite different from the others’, his eyes were human blue; anyway, he’d always kiss me on my cheek as I’d lean over to find him swimming among the rest; there you are, i’d giggle, as I’d give him crusts of toasted bread, sometimes still with butter (though my pockets got me in a lot of trouble later, “young lady, what is this sticky mess all over you?”) – and (so) as we’d begin each Sunday morning that early spring still inside of me, i think i helped him remember all those places where his journey first began as I listened to his own stories of another time I never knew.

(to be continued)

@ 02/08/2014 by KPW


About KatherinePopeWolcott

currently compiling thoughts/writings -- notebooks full, pulled apart and put back together and then something new, and here it all comes. two books being finished in the interim. Sometimes really frustrating. I remain with little interest in attempting to learn the "how to" parts of blogging because I'm technically inept, so multiple limitations are always present; just try not to think about... but other creations coming soon -- I think I am able to scan/pdf; what I am currently working on (paintings and photos and painted photos) once finished; or get someone else to do it for me.
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