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Intermission

March 15, 2013

A long day and a short night.  We sat with our backs to the shadows and watched it all end from the top of the hill.  Glare and fire and glory, all soft edges and start contrast and fading lines into night; a dramatic end to an eventful day.

 

We did so much today – we breakfasted and battled evil all the morning until lunch; with our cardboard swords and thick sheaf shields those monsters couldn’t touch us, not when we go back to back and trust in each other’s defences.  I must admit I worried about you when we got separated in the labyrinth; though I called Marco and I heard your Polo I could not see you or tell if it was an echo or a trick.  My heart beat fast to see you again when we finally solved it, though you might have thought it was for the creature at the centre of the maze, as we reunited either side of its wide and angry reach.  I’ve not seen such a beast before but as these things go we had to meet in the middle, so from afar we choreographed and matched and complemented move for move, closer and closer together until we could just reach, fingertips to fingertips – and cut the creature down.

 

We counted the treasure together then, and relaxed in the midday shade in the gardens calm with gentle wonders.  A stroll, and lunch then, with the loot stowed secret somewhere.

 

The afternoon was the games; I cheered you on and you hollered me faster – neither of us won except for fun and laughing; we grew rich in it.  We congratulated and celebrated those who won; they surely earned and deserved it by desire and by merit.  We walked away from the grounds then, and the thrill and noise and energy fell feather-moulting from us.

 

Lighter, we climbed this hill and here we are, you and me and memories of the day draped warm around us.  But the sun is going down, a chill taps at my arm, and it’s time to go back home.  Our paths diverge here, separate steps carry away from today towards the unknown sometime ahead.

 

I hope I find you again there, and live another day like this, with you.

*Author’s note:  I’m experimenting with prose style here.  You might have noticed I love assonance and consonace and repetition – this piece works best when read aloud, at least aloud in your head, emphasising on the rhymes moreso than the punctuation.  My goal is to write pieces best read alound, and pay homage to the oral story telling traditions.

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