Pictorial Prose

Pictorial Prose
Indulging my most lucid daydreams

Saturday, February 20, 2016

...as the song bird sings.

It wasn't the usual song that the song bird sings,
his tune was a bit different like the first sound
of spring. Calling on a mate or advertising spring
I was happy to hear the little song bird sing.

The fern stood strong through the winter days
and as the snow melted they appeared on display,
perking up a little as the fronds of green performed
a dance with the wind in a artistic kind of way.


My work computer contains photographs of flowers in bloom and trees, paths through the woods, the sun on the pond, foot prints in the snow and hearts in the sand. Flipping through the files was like peering into my heart. Years of emotion, trials and triumphs were stored away in random files, unlabeled and disorganized.  Yet never the less they triggered the memories of the chapters of my life.
My daughter looking through the files for family pictures would click on the files and say oh Mum's poetry. Even though the poetry and pictures had been on display many times, it felt like an invasion into privacy as she flipped through what seem like a lifetime to me. Pictures and poems or life and love? I was agitated and yet laughed it off as my heart was viewed as merely words on a screen.
It reminded me of the song" The Funny Little Clown." The first time I heard that song, I thought it was written about me. I didn't realize that it was 1964. I was six years old thinking I was the clown, always laughing on the outside but crying on the in. I managed to carry that through life smiling when you are really crying. Time is funny that way it documents moments in our life, reminding us of days long gone by.
But I think it was even more than that, the computer was a world an escape. Knowledge, companionship, work, access and a array of information that covered any topic possible. It made me think i about when you pass away and they open a drawer and dump the remains into the trash. Because those who remain do not have the memories or the emotional attachment. But in all reality it was my private space that I choose to share or not. I have mixed feelings as I remember taking the bicycle out for the first time and with my eyes closed riding down the back rural road. I remember the various senses picking up. The sounds around me, the wind on my cheek and through my hair and the first taste of freedom. Life by no means became easier, there was much to overcome. Free yet entangled,,
That is where the little song bird comes in, think spring! The new season filled with new days in a new chapter. Wiping away the many yesterday tears and the camouflage of a smile and starting a new. Welcome wind, rain and sunshine...and yes welcoming spring.

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