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She's been kicked to the ground in the dust of despair , kicked in the ribs by human hyenas...
When trying to stand up she was stepped on like a cigarette butt
...and Time threw at her the acid of aging in an unexpected attack.
She never complained to the outside of her Soul. Dirt could be hosed  down and she never needed ribs anyway:
 She was one with the rhythm of Nature in Spring
                                                                       and knew how to blossom despise desert winds.
 We rented a boat out of a Pacific harbor.
 I sat next to her for one hour ride.
We whispered and giggled memories of childhood while two whales accompanied us echo-locating our Soul.
"It Was Time!"
The motor went mute as clouds dissipated like a curtain, the Sun - the only stage light - focusing on the monologue of a sad. lonely life.
I picked up the urn, a silver  Deja Vu.
My wings started to tremble as I was struggling to open the container.  How can you grab and unscrew the lid of your Life wearing feathers from Heaven instead of fingers?
I whispered the Captain to help...
It was time for me to throw myself into the beloved Pacific ocean. It only lasted for a few seconds until I made contact with the tears of the dead. I have never imagined how heavy my ashes were. . I felt nostalgic but, oh,  so very light...
We both said: "Farewell" to the lonely captain with blue tears in his eyes ...
 he accelerated disturbing the balance , he was  mad with the world
but still willing to anchor on Life...



Iolanda Scripca

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