A bedtime story

I thought I heard your voice in the dim room whispering that you wanted to show me something. Something that was lost and I had been looking for.

I just returned home from my journey through the mountains. It was cold, high up there. The air was thin. I had followed the small snowy paths for weeks in a row.

Away from the living world my heart had begun to freeze. I was walking with a heart of ice. It became heavy with sharp edges.

Until she caught my eye. This wild animal’s soul.

She stood in front of me. Her spotted coat covered in fluffy snow flakes.

Her timid eyes as if she felt caught. Her attentive ears pricked up.

I was petrified and full of wonder at the same time.

She didn’t move and looked at me. Unafraid.

A mystical beauty.

I was glued to the ground, I couldn’t take another step.

She lived alone at altitude as she was hiding from the world below.

That world that hounded her, not only for who she was, but also for who she had become.

She needs her solitude like the fish need the seas.

Here in the cold mountains she was home.

I looked at her, the way she trod the rocky paths, weightless and calmly without hesitation, dauntless, without a single sound, and my heart became soft again. The sharp edges melted.

My skin felt cold in the icy air, but within little flames were burning.

I continued my path, carried her mysterious image in my heart, played it like a silent movie in the theatre of my mind and decided to go back.

I went back to the far world below, leaving her and her majestic mountains behind, the clean air and the solitude.

In the distance I hear your voice now.

Slowly I awaken. My eyes are looking around the room.

On the sidetable there’s a postcard.

A snow leopard with fiery eyes and soft skin looks at me.

It reads: “Soon I will be home again and bring you a bag full of stories and mysteries. With love from the mountains.” 









Conversations With The Stars

A girl sits in the window, staring into the sleepless night. There’s a heaven full of stars. Some of them are shining so bright, like they want her to be known. The moment before she was looking into an old photo album with photographs of her family. A picture of her mother when she was a little girl in her favorite flower dress playing the piano. Photos of her grandmother with big curly hair making chickensoup in the small kitchen. A photograph of an old aunt celebrating her birthday with homemade apple pie whilst blowing out the many birthday candles. Images of uncles smoking cigars who later went to war and never returned to their homes. Photos of cousins, nephews and nieces. Faraway family. Most faces she hardly knew, lives she didn’t have any idea of. A photo of her mother suddenly fell to the ground. There was a brown spot on the back of the photo which once must have been the sticky glue to paste it on. Many lives have been before her, before her mother’s and grandmother’s, her father’s and grandfather’s life. Before all these family photos were the lives of her ancestors.

Times were different back then. There was not much in times of poverty and war, but they had each other. She picked up the picture from the ground. Her mother must have been eight or nine, wearing a bow in her long straight hair, looking into the camera with a grin and big eyes full of wonder. A little princess face. A whole life lied at her mother’s feet, not having a single clue what it would bring. Sunhine and rainbows would happily fill her life; dark, bursting clouds would fight for a place in it as well. The girl tried to see if the picture already showed any trace of her mother’s misfortune that shortly happened after the photo was taken. She softly slid her finger over her mother’s cheek, kissed her beautiful eyes and held the photograph close to her heart. Death doesn’t announce itself through smiling children’s faces, but chooses its own unfathomable way. Sometimes death is sly and slow, other times it’s quick and merciless. On an misty October morning the girl’s mother found her young mother dead; she died in her sleep. Yes, death could be soft too, almost understanding. It broke her mother’s little heart. The only time her mother didn’t cry was at night when she gazed to the stars, picked the brightest one and imagined it was her sweet mother. It was her light that spoke to her and lulled her to sleep.

Many stars and years later the girl sits in the window talking with the stars like her own mother did. They’re telling her she can go to sleep now. There’s no need to be afraid. The starlight will guard her, just like her father, grandmothers, grandfathers, aunts and uncles do. And her ancestors. Long after they’ve gone.

Schermafbeelding 2017-05-23 om 19.35.02
Photo source: Pinterest. Artist unknown.
%d bloggers like this: