I stare out the car window at apparently limitless construction. Perhaps we resonate with skeletons, our new suburbs percolating out of them; the pulse and jut of naked road spindles and the bony reckoning of houses.
Natural birthing prefers a wholeness – skins folded and pliable like petals, birds’ wings, a snail’s antenna or the slip and wink of tadpoles. Even the wondrous fists of mushrooms or the bold elasticity of mountains hammering at summer sky’s steely anvil, have a unity, an enveloping of the nude structure.
We’re driving from the service to the wake and I squint forward into the sun – a huge, bronze medallion. The sky has been ripped bare, its lips drawn back like those of an angry dog. The Brindabellas glow purple, a jagged, lolling tongue.
Through the car’s sunroof
a V of twinkling ibis invert the morning
I watch you disappear
Written for Go Dog Go’s Brave and Reckless Challenge – using book titles. The title of this piece comes from a book by Violet Kupersmith.
Out of the Cave 
Saying farewell is difficult; a time for fond memories. Your paragraph about natural birthing is beautiful.
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Many thanks, Hobbo. 😊
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Wonderful!
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Many thanks, Bob!
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My dad used to say, Stop firing cannons at my boat. Some days that saying says it all. I hope you’re being kind to yourself, Worms.
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Hell yeah. That’s a great saying. It’s 4:19am and the dog (mostly with help from rowdy possums in the pear tree) has had me awake since around midnight. I’ve given up being furious and have embraced the night. Maybe I’ll snaffle a few hours tomorrow somewhere. Sleep isn’t a strong point at the moment. Didn’t need dog’s help on sleeplessness.
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I can tolerate almost anything except lack of sleep. And fried liver with onions, which is my version of a nightmare.
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This imagery rocks me.
-David
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Thanks, David. 💜
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