The dogs panting now, up a gear and at least an octave breathier, small clouds of steam, reticulating spurts instantaneously appear and disappear on morning air. Celeste kept smiling at them as they bobbed and weaved around invisible rings, snapping at flies, sideways somersaults, rotations and flips. Her face seemed more rounded, easy curves, half moon brow an upside down smile. Happiness is always so circular.
Just the hint of a throw and Pepe jumps to the most alert and focused posture. Attentiveness beyond concentration. Purely present in keenest anticipation. Ancestral wolf listening for a bear in the forest perhaps. The stick is thrown and he, unconstrained by any thought or concept, bounds like a rabbit half hopping half flying. Having secured his prey with a shake he stops and surveys the land for a moment only and then rebounds back to Celeste. He always returns it to her feet even if she did not throw it.
The morning light breaks through wattled fernery tipping the edges with lemon and lime citronesence. Passive reflection belies the hunger with which leaves greet the caress of heat and infusion of energy. Life abundantly begetting life. Amidst mindless flutterings, casual bows and curtsies, branches pay homage, stretch to their maker, reach towards the heavens in prayerful and eager growth. Desperate to develop, blindly yearning for expression, manifestation and survival. All done so silently and serenely that not only does such longing escape perception, it seems to be nothing other than nonchalant coolness and the most chilled and careless existence and non-existence both.
And so with Celeste. Her momentary gladness and peace is subdued with an ineffable sadness. The delicacy of loneliness itself a beauteous tulip. Its petals white as death and stamens plasma red. It wilts in the sun and thrives in the night. Its nurturing is reason enough to justify careful camouflage and elaborate fortification. She would perhaps be lost without it. Or found, as the case may be.
Sunflowers greet the dawn without sorrow. Their unreflecting faces unflinchingly absorb pure radiation and refract in fractal imitation. Fully exposed they gaze fully into the face of light. Their sunblind surrender, a form of seeing like visions that cross the eyelids with the passage of the sun. They may seem to rest in the dark hours but magically they spin the day’s infusion into tiny expulsions of silver. They dance with the interstellar winds and kiss the earth with their tears. Across time and numerous kalpas they were formed in the cauldron of cataclysmic and nuclear fission, remnants of the most extreme annihilation. Like satellite dishes, surveying with unlimited vision infinite starscapes and beyond to the dark perimeter outside the reach of anything that be called anything. Inside, minuscule droplets of Planck scale liquid infinitude, entire universes formed, reformed and formed again on the brane.
Nibbling slowly on their seeds, immaculately placed and gently crushed by her unbesmirched teeth, Celeste, now landed on the earth, tastes of its soil. She once floated in the air like a dakini, barely touching its surface. Like all earth angels, she was prone to headiness so much so that her crown lopsided and became tangled in branches of thorns. The blood stained crucifix of guilt, estrangement and betrayal became melded with her flesh leaving tumours , scars and mercurial anger.
But to look at her inquisitive prayerlessness now casts a lie to this and other shadows. Complexion of late summer, bare shoulders in sun yellow dress and floppy white macramé hat. Ancient dynasties have conspired to meet her in her moment of reflection and calm connection with small canine friends. Such depth cannot be fathomed except in the bubbles that form upon her surface blowing into reality releasing all the momentum of the big bang yet experienced as a single smile in the morning sunlight.