You would not see the full moon float above trees to your east, her pale face waiting for dark when she will shine luminescent as a pearl. It was a day like today, and if evening had come, perhaps it would be just like this. Exactly as I see it now. But it is early morning. Possibly yesterday or tomorrow. Birds chirp glassy matins as she ties her shoes. She who was me. She who was you. She who is she begins.
See her solitary silhouette against a canvas of blue, an easy lilt in her gait? The path rolls out as carpet, teasing her forward. “Come on! Come on!” Gentle inclines, gradual descents. Sun kisses exposed skin that never will burn. Feet find a rhythm as hips loosely say, “Cha-da, cha-da.” Blood pulses through arteries. “Boom-da, boom-da.”
Don’t worry for her. Don’t fret about food, fatigue, thirst, storms, sleepless bone-chilling nights spent on rocks being lost, alone, lonely. She lives in timelessness. Keep clear her image.
There is more to see. Many viewpoints. Layers of worlds. No clocks ticking. No boundaries impervious.
A naked girl will jump with abandon into deep, icy waters. Braids flying high before she slices in. You see her suspended. She’s jumped off the planet from a spot of green thrusting towards liquid blue. Remember the day? You run from emerald grass to high rocky ledge. Gleefully leap in a snapshot of joy. You laugh-scream as you hit with a smack and plunge deep, lithe as a fish, then pop up like a cork. Gasping for air you shiver, teeth chatter. Wrap yourself up in a tattered old towel until goose bumps subside. Squishing a horse fly between fingers you contemplate the shape of your muscular legs, the promise of breasts that are budding. You yearn to be touched by one you’ve not met.
You find a pitcher plant in the bog later that day. A strange jiggling occurs as you walk on land laid over lake. Grandma’s voice calls you back to the cabin. Raspberry Kool-Aid sweetens your lips. The smell of old quilts and wintergreen wafts in through windows. That’s as far as you know. As far as it goes.
But look. Here’s another:
“How did you do that?” “Shh.” he replies. “Move very slowly.” He lowers his finger to your eye level. You move close, closer, closer. Silent as air. Wrap your hand ‘round his finger where a magic creature sits, slowly fanning itself. Open and shut. Open and shut. “Daddy? Does it tickle?” “Just a bit.” Brown velvet wings edged with stripes and 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7 eyes on each luscious wing. You wish her to stay, but a wisp of wind rises. She disappears in a wink. “I can still feel her here on my finger,” says Daddy, “even though she has flown.”
Earth rolls around again and again. It falls off one side of the page and slides on to the other. It slices itself into thinnest of wafers, stacks into memories strewn into books. Overhead a canopy of large pink petals forms an archway to more panoramas. An aquamarine and gold fish the size of Africa swims through the air, arcing just over leaping-girl’s head. From she-who-has-been-walking-forever-and-ever a shadow pulls at her body while dancing ahead. A string bean with swinging braids and long stick arms pumping in opposition to legs of high, skinny stilts.
Night leaks into twilight. Dragon swallows his tail. Hidden entrances, exits like quicksilver lure us from here into this into that into there. Boundaries fade as the Milky Way sprinkles her stars. Night and day play in dreaming and waking. Toddler, girl, woman. Fish with fins. Insect with wings. I see your solitary silhouette against a canvas of blue, an easy lilt in your gait. You would not see the full moon float above trees to your east, her pale face waiting for dark when she will shine luminescent as a pearl, but I see her now. Or did. For one moment. One planet. One day.