air

The creature came from the sea and yearned to crawl around the earth. The wind compelled it's desire for the fresh mountain air. It pulled its watercraft up to the shore, and leaped out onto the sand. It ran quickly, hobbled into the brush. The leaves and branches cut and scraped its skin. No pain was felt, however, as it urge to approached the very top unleashed adrenaline into its body. The air grew thin, but it was fresh as expected. It inhaled the very delicate grace of air. Upon its arrival to the top, it stumbled upon a small cottage. Smoke trickled from the chimney pipe. It puffed into the mountain air. The creature approached the cabin.

soaked

Killian dreams in the darkest room in a cabin up on a hill. He writes his thoughts and his passions on paper. The direction of the characters are chaotic. The plot is gone. The scenes do not come to life. Outside, more rain, and more moments for inspiration are washed away. The window is shut. The floors speak to his shoes, begging for Killian to pace a little more. Massage the wood. The welcome mat is soaked and cries for more ideas.

When Killian walks out of the house and soaks his socks, the sensation comes at a shock. But the stimulation is what ignites the thoughts and sparks the next chapter.

Killian pulls his wet socks off and places them next to the fire so they can dry. In the meantime, he sits down at the desk again and writes about his feet's burdens. How life's water is pure, but also an anchor that presents the most unlikely challenges. The tides are constant, but the waves are conflicting, random and daunting.

saving the key of G

A thundershower of love fills the potholes of emptiness. The symphony of the day only knows the amount of water needed to top off each one. The array of nature's museum only presents itself as a mere collection of reflective sheets. The crowd of circus performers, ballerinas, horse jockeys and lousy magicians witness the quiet comedy. The children's tiny footsteps are careful not to step into the wrong one. Each foot is careful to prevent failure. At the end is the lavish reward of the day. At the end of the path, the new horizon presents planted seeds, which are growning into a stark woodland.

the fish

From the beach you can see the giant fish. They are waiting to gulp up the passing ships. The sand is clay and the ocean is a blanket. The sun garnishes the warm cloth. It shines brighter and then the blanket changes color. The fish below change their scales to blend in.

The ships are sitting ducks. They tug the air and contemplate the wind. They frown upon the waves. Below the fish wait for the right one. The plump one. The one that will fill is empty belly for the day. And then tomorrow, more.

The ships still come because they have to. Deliveries have to be made from one society to another civilization. From one land to another house. From one valley to one surface of another world. Deep in the trenches the fish harness their hunger. They swim in schools of thought, but pray to the cowards of love. They swim into a swift current to gain their momentum. One breaks off from the school towards a passing yacht. It's tasty and made of wood. The sails are also filled with ozone and hope. The fish dashes and opens its wide mouth. It's bigger than the ravine near the houses. Water rushes through its gills, its scales are his armor. He gulps the yacht down, and the flavor of ozone and hope is just soothing. Just too tempting to chew, but to swallow in one instant.

The yacht is gone, and so are the dreams of many. But the fish is satisfied and happy to instill its political means for tomorrow's supper.

the hallway in my house

The outside is calm. The hallway has a vast ceiling of stars. The roof expands into space. The fountain in the middle is the trickling binding strands of the universe. The heart beat of the universe continues to beat. Stars move closer to others, while some move further away. Towards black holes.

The rail on the side of the hallway was just the size of a silk's thread. It was smooth yet, sturdy if held right, gently. Being calm is the key. The floor is frictionless like space. To stumble is to slip and fall, but to slide is to glide in one motion. The force of gravity never going to waste.

There's nothing better than green tea.

Oh yeah.

A man walks out into a vast open space and has to find his way back home. There's no other way but to trek through the mountains, swim across rivers and glide among the clouds. There are plenty of ways. And in the end, when there's nothing to look forward to but rest, the man sits and writes about his travels.