The window ajar, I am visited by the wind. It takes courage to cross the threshold into my dark room. I am sat right there, right where it enters, where it picks at my bare chest like a hummingbird wrestling the air to steady itself and dive its narrow bill into the nectar , forceful, decisive, yet gentle.<\/p>\n
It trespasses not. I welcome each cooling brush, each purposeful touch possessing me. There it is that \u201cme\u201d. As I hold it up to the light to distill more understanding, the wind sweeps it of my hand. Once fist, a tight clutch, a wistful holding on, now that \u2013 a palm simmering underneath a light, letting go. Whom to trust more than the descending wind, to break and swallow this manifestation of \u201cme\u201d? And thus , to gesture my self-portrait to follow , to cross over from the membrane that infused it with so many labels into a novel experience.<\/p>\n
I hesitate to call the wind by name, to sprinkle it with animate human properties, to say I hear a murmur. Just then the same hummingbird picks out my thoughts, one by one, a quick spasm, one more line of thought struggles against, attempts to connect and disappears. The last rebellion of „me“.<\/p>\n
Out, out, wind hollers – perhaps. Farewell room and window, cone of light resting on palm, once taut, now soothed and calm, farewell hummingbird, your wingful tatter , unwavering too. Each stroke of wing – surely there is an in-between, if we look so very close. Universal traveler, wind, in might and meagre – farewell „me“. Free thyself. Ride wind, ride.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
The window ajar, I am visited by the wind. It takes courage to cross the threshold into my dark room. I am sat right there, right where it enters, where it picks at my bare chest like a hummingbird wrestling the air to steady itself and dive its narrow bill into the nectar , forceful, decisive, yet gentle. It trespasses not. I welcome each cooling brush, each purposeful touch possessing me. There it is that \u201cme\u201d. As I hold it up to the light to distill more understanding, the wind sweeps it of my hand. Once fist, a tight clutch, a wistful holding on, now that \u2013 a palm simmering … Window visitor<\/span> weiterlesen