Blended, Separate, and Unique

We are all but different parts of a whole; woven like cloth; many threads pulled into diverse patterns and the fabric of a specific time and place.

Dark and light, reds, yellows, and browns, greens, blues, and hazel; multi-coloured skin, hair, and eyes: each thread picked up, intermingled into check, stripe, tweed, or tartan, amalgamations becoming their own distinct and recognisable identities.

Fibres have strength when bound together, intertwined, plaited tightly and loosely, in and out, over and beneath. 

So are people; all sentient things need to be part of a greater tapestry: each thread in the weave holding up the next. Why do some insist on being the scissors?

Ronda R. Scott-Marak

© 22 June 2019

Are we the Authors of our Lives, or its Editors?

If we are the questions, where should we place the commas?
If we are the answers, are our stories cited, complete with footnotes and quote marks?
Do our lives have set margins or page breaks?

Are our adventures, just paragraphs and chapters rather than completely fleshed-out books of Life?

Who draws the frontispiece, or writes the dedication and prologue, who the summary, index, or the end-notes?

Do we choose our own table of contents and outline? Is our ending written, a foregone conclusion of someone else’s plot, or is the Finis unexpected, upended alteration from the draft?

Ronda R. Scott-Marak
© 14 June 2019

L’Heure Bleue

Breath before the Dawn

Between Darkness and Light’s glow

Total Silence reigns. 

Ronda R. Scott-Marak
© 6 June 2019

Arriving

With thanks to Carrie Newcomer for the inspiration while walking in the sunshine
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XkT23oJ0rLE

Is death a void, a step into all-encompassing darkness,
a never-ending walk across black sands;
or is it a lightness of being, an infinite, openness of thought,
a return to the aether, back to Stardust?

Is death a gathering of family and love, a step towards a glowing hearth
and brightly lit windows;
or the all-embracing warmth of returning to the Mother,
back to the dust, to the Earth?

Is death silent with dark foreboding or spectral peace,
a blanket smothering of senses;
or is it a panoply of colour, softness, and delight
accompanied by the voices we love, and the music of the Galaxies?

Ronda R. Scott-Marak

© 5 June 2019