Eyes roaming distant waters,” by Julia at Amanda’s place

Thursday August 9, 2018
Wandering At Oblique Creek
T’ao Ch’ien

we both belong to the salt bath healing
you and I both know it
the way we know the rub of a cricket’s chirp
the slow fade of a mosquito’s sting
the good bridge before the song changes key
we know how to put our skin far away
how to put the bon in voyage
how to ask for forgiveness

we both learned it in a book that repeats

in a child’s colouring pages

some times you take a lover from another continent

and you study the places they’ve used to hold their bookmarks

“Eyes roaming distant waters,” by Sasha at her desk

Thursday August 9, 2018
5 minutes
Wandering At Oblique Creek
T’ao Ch’ien

You walk to the lake before sunrise. You barely stumble on the path because you’ve tread it so many times but once or twice there is a new root, a new rock, and you almost trip but you don’t because you’re listening. When you arrive at the water’s edge, the light is rising. The sun isn’t on the horizon yet, but the light is reaching up up up up up and there are colours like you’ve never seen before – a new lilac, a new azure, a new lapis, a new rouge. You find a place to sit, the quiet, familiar dome of a boulder that you’ve sat on many times before. You unfocus your eyes over the still glass of the water. Sky and lake blend. You and this place are one, these birch trees, these ferns, these cedars.