Spirit Circles

 A floating spirit wanders over the village, wandering in and out of glints of the silver streaks of moonlight sneaking through clouds. The spirit once tethered to something or someone snuck free of it’s inhabitance. The spirit soars in large banking circles, a wild freedom beneath its ephemeral ethereal form.

Free of any proposed daytime duties, latched attachments or backseat silences, this spirit wanders through the sky in slow moments of movement. It doesn’t appear to be doing much and it’s a beautiful scene. An amoebic shape in the sky rapt in it’s own consistent uninterrupted motion. I stood in my place watching it circle over and over again, mesmerized.

I wasn’t sure of quite what I was witnessing, was the spirit stretching it’s legs after a time, a season of dormancy wherever they reside. Was this just a nightly ritual I’ve not been previously privy too? Is this an every night affair? Is this some dirge or elegy to a death, a death of spirit? Is this spirit of new origins, new life and its wondrous sky circles are its first wanderings here on earth.

What motives lie behind it’s nightly soaring may never be known to me, it is exuding joy, abundance. The hours of night begin to disappear into twilight. The first hours of daybreak cannot be far. The thickest of darkness has settled over the land. My mind breaks from the still hours of observation, curious of what the day ahead holds for myself. I am not motivated to leave the scene of my celestial viewing despite the hour, despite knowing my irresponsibility with my night’s hours to stand in amazement of the soaring spirit will have undue consequence upon the day fast coming.

As I am watching, the ocean waves of memory and the sands of time began to mirror the looping circles I see above:

Period’s of great peace where comforts and simplicity coddled my heart. A time of brandishing laughter, and a strong inventory of words: propitious, promising, and powerful. This mighty bank of words among the elegant backdrop of the cacophonous symphony of laughter, uninhibited jabs of sound, shrieks of joy, hearty chortling, all like brushstrokes captured the universe’s happenings and the flow of time with the same fondness of a lover’s touch.

Periods of upheaval and disorder that rally mightily against the fortress of beautiful things coveted. A time where best interest went rogue. The words that had hummed and clung to yesterday, offering their harmony to daily unfoldings fell silent. The absence of good word and harmonious sound left an anxious silence that beget disorder. Time felt defunct of memory. In this broken covenant of these two forces made time smolder in the heart, stilling it in noxious fashion.

I take a long slow deep breath letting out these mental murmurings and continue to watch the soaring spirit’s banking circles. I do not know when the next time I’ll catch such a sight, or be allowed access to otherworldly experience, or if this odd observation will mean much to me in the following days.

The sun peaks up and for the first time I see the spirit halt it’s endless loops. As day moves in the spirit sharply dives from it’s high point in the sky down out of view. Down back to something that dwell upon earth’s surface. Aside myself and with great dreariness in my eye from the night of skipped slumber, I like the spirit, retreat from this observation and return to habits of normalcy.

Though day just broke, it is time for me to call it a night and head off to bed.

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