imprints

yellowbird.

two months have nearly passed since our* stay at this small wonder. it still feels close, like a sweet-nothings kind of whisper that hums in your ear even after your lover has left the room.

after staying with david and finishing [yay! applause!] the sauna floor, the orchard, after befriending the wild goats- i (cris) went back to miami. i returned to my motherland.

miami, unlike middle tennessee, is flat. it’s hot alllllll the time. it’s bursting with [unnatural] sound. it’s suburban. there is a disheartening amount of traffic and nature is a word gringos use.

it was when i was stuck in this said traffic that i’ve thought of yellow bird the most.

one morning, before the sun came out from under its covers, i rode behind the endless line of worker ants and felt nothing. i just sat behind the wheel and pushed :accelerator: :::brake::: ::change lane:: :::brake::: and so on.

without realizing, my subconscious seemed to take over. soon i was listening to bob dylan’s version of “mr. tambourine man”** and i was there.

i saw the lake glimmering in the golden light of dusk. the cats meowing and crawling in and out of the barn. i felt the rain hit my face as i rode the 4x4 up a hill. red leaves falling. smelled the bread baking. tasted the fresh spring water.

what beauty. what a gift. 

footnotes:

*tim ballard and cris boronat 

**i still don't know why ol bobby brought me to that place. maybe because his voice feels like home to me, like yellowbird. 

fall.

just yesterday i had to shake my head and make sense of the light glowing under the bare tree. but it’s dusk.

the gingko tree was lime green when i arrived two weeks ago. i had barely blinked or understood what i was looking at before it turned yellow. then the leaves were like the petals of a sunflower burst onto the ground. the tree’s skeleton shone in the shocking brightness from below.

with each passing day, the trees are all undressing, revealing their shapes and what lives behind them. the wind’s heavy exhales rattle their brittle branches. i think it’s appropriate and lovely, these melancholy echoes and impressions, under this graying sky and chilling currents.

and now, in and near the woods lie spirits just as bright as the fallen leaves of the gingko tree.

A Picture is Worth a Thousand Words