Things of Life

     Sun took Young Forest into an orchard with orange trees. Trees were in blossom and the two waited there for round fruits to grow under the shinny and fragrant leaves. When they were finally ready, Sun squeezed the juice out of ripe oranges and the liquid flowed through her cleavage and down. A puddle of juice gathered around her belly button and he drank it all from there.      Then they flew to the Moon, and Jupiter, and Mars and they counted stars and grains of sand till their hair turned white...      It was a very long flight...

     River was from a different city. A majestic edifice was standing there, a special place of worshiping God of Heavens, with white swirling towers that seemed to thrust into the clouds. The story goes that the monument was built by a certain craftsman, Manole, who went through great trials to create such masterpiece. When the building was finished, Manole was trapped on its roof by his master, who feared that the craftsman would build an even greater monument. So, he made wooden wings to fly down. But his wings proved too weak for such endeavor, so Manole fell and perished. A fountain came alive right in that spot and people drank from it.      Young Forest and River talked often. The girl was happy to discover that a conversation she had with a boy could stand by itself and be like a growing garden; it was not a means to get somewhere else like she had learned up to that point. It must have meant the world for her, so she spred her wings wide and starte...

Pe veranda mea  Vin niste sopârle dragute-- Cu cozi lungi Se preling pe ciment Si ciugulesc ceva Din crăpături. Imi plac tare,  Ca eu sunt o sopârla mai mare In chaise-longue la soare. Ca o picătură de roua Simt atingerea lor  La picioare...

     A 4th story room that was facing an interior courtyard. Between some buildings that were completing, although not entirely, the circle of the courtyard, there was the scenery of a centuries-old park, with its mature chestnut trees. A piece of forest in the middle of a small city, one time the domain of a wealthy family that had a mansion there. Directly through the opening, a bench was seen right in the middle, under a tree.      I lived in the 4th story room for 20 years, and my desk was by a window with direct view of the park and that particular bench. Childhood, adolescence, and some of my young age at the same desk, where I did my school stuff and not only; glued there for a while to figure out math, write papers by hand,  or work on small paintings. More often, I would get bored, tired, or distracted, and gaze towards the park through the transparent curtain whose folds would come over the edge of the desk as the waves of the sea.  ...

     As a kid, I used to jump on rocks. When crossing a creek or a small river, I would look for a good trail of rocks that would rise up like sheep from the little ripples of water, not too distanced from one another, and not too odd shaped. Then I would know that crossing of waters would be smooth. I would make a firm step on the first rock, maintain the right balance, and move to the next till endeavor was accomplished.      Don't I do the same with life? Jumping from one exciting moment to the other, and trying to maintain proper movement and equilibrium, or dance even. In between them there is the amorphous matter of rutine, of monotonous time that fills you with fatigue through its simple sameness. And, of course, there is the waiting that wears you out like a cold season. Finding the right path of rocks is paramount because if you stumble and fall in the amorphous matter you'll get sick, no doubt.       You, rocks, round and shiny...

Nights are for riding horses, Red, white, and purple; Days for riding cars. In between, dogs bark...

     The woman-- a beauty in her prime age-- had problems with her legs for decades. A wedding picture--she in a white dress by her husband's side-- stood silently, yet boldly, on a wall in her bedroom. Aging slowly, her walking became harder and harder, so at one point she had to rely on a walker, special shoes, different bathroom arrangements, helpers, and who knows what else... But her brain was sharp and she accepted her lot with serenity, so she got to live long.       Every time I entered her house, the now frail woman seemed glued to a sofa, and she was always in good spirits; I had to get very close and almost shout because she could not hear well, even with her hearing aid...When she misunderstood my words, I let it be...      Then she was sleeping a lot. Unusually deep. When we received the news that she had passed, I sensed relief. Her ashes were poured over her husband's in an urn in her son's office, and the house was cleane...