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Ailinn
Windchimer

2173 Posts

Posted - 02/24/2016 :  19:11:29  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Two blue herons rising out of the marsh that morning. In tandem through layered clouds. Clasp of silver holding the sea and the sky together. Dream seasons in the twentieth century.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2173 Posts

Posted - 03/12/2016 :  18:31:26  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Two hours with his elbow out the window in a late decade in the twentieth century. Winding washboard roads through grapes sugaring on the vine. Delirious slow bees in meadows of glowing clover. His rolling up and down stride along the arbor path. Key behind the pine eagle he nailed over the double Dutch door. Hand-carved wings in flight.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2173 Posts

Posted - 03/12/2016 :  18:34:34  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
In his sixth sense world they walk about in watery light. Footsteps in a parallel life. Late sunsets in Daylight Saving Time. The great dark fallen away. Flash paper days. Consequence on every page.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2173 Posts

Posted - 03/14/2016 :  18:37:26  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply

"Do you remember...?" he says. The old frames unspooling. A boulevard of churches. A Border's revolving door. An antique coach on an abandoned spur in a rail yard in the Coachella Valley. Sun-warm tequila. Chilled gardenias in jars. A silhouette crossing the tracks. They're sitting on the floor with the photographs between them. Hand-written notes on the back. "Sometimes I hold them up to the light to read the words backwards," she says.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2173 Posts

Posted - 03/20/2016 :  18:26:26  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
He works on several paintings at once. Laying color down in bold rapid strokes. His slight of hand ahead of his consciousness. His innate quirky magic breaking free. Other times he steps back and stares. Sets the brushes and the palette aside. Grabs the pole and the bucket and the battered straw hat. Walks out to a watery edge.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2173 Posts

Posted - 03/29/2016 :  17:22:40  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply

"We're under the river now," she says. "One way in and one way out." Above them the perilous skyscrapers. Twilight traffic. Chilly stars. He's quiet for several moments, then, "Once upon a time... Takes years," he says, "keep talkin'." "Three Hail Mary's wipe the slate clean," she says. He laughs, "No glass between us on visiting day, hahaha. Do you know what I'm sayin'?" he says. "Go ahead, preach to me," she says.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2173 Posts

Posted - 04/02/2016 :  18:04:10  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
They flew through the jet-scarred sky. She was afraid to fly. She sat on her suitcase clenching her fists and biting her bottom lip. He sat with his duffle between his knees clean-shaven in his shining white shirt. He'd lean in close to her ear. His mouth of invention inventing a soft landing beside a tinsel-strewn vineyard, a blossom-blurred almond grove.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2173 Posts

Posted - 04/11/2016 :  18:28:16  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
No careless mystery under his brush. A smudge of turquoise against verdant hills. A weathered cottage in the vineyard's green. Violet twilight in a steeple-topped village. Melancholy time in the clock tower. Random stars. A rendezvous. A midnight panorama. Votives flickering in the windows and on the porch rail. Candles burning the house down in Mexico. "...just a little accordion embroidery..." he said.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2173 Posts

Posted - 04/21/2016 :  19:06:02  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply

Old frames unspooling on the memory boulevard. Rain rushing the gutter of their high-curb corner. Delicate petals trembling in galvanized watering cans. The flower vendor waiting out the storm in her van while Pick Up Sticks lightning charge the plum-lit sky. He's rushing across the avenue through a maze of rain-streaked windshields. Side-stepping puddles. Folded newspaper over his head.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2173 Posts

Posted - 04/24/2016 :  08:40:22  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Life on India Street a block from the Star somnolently rocking in the harbor. Small boats riding at anchor in sunset's sequined light. Glow in the galley when his scrolled maps unroll. When the Mute Fortune Teller talks to The Sailor in Sign. Little divots where they touch each other's hands.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2173 Posts

Posted - 04/30/2016 :  22:39:46  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
On Saturday nights they cruise the Street Bazaar. Aisles so narrow they brush against the stalls on either side as they pass. A maze of choices to enchant them. Alebrije dragons and catrina dolls. Braided lariats and hand tooled boots. Sweets in red cellophane and spices in twists of brown paper. A small pine shelf he chooses. A carved eagle with wings in flight.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2173 Posts

Posted - 05/02/2016 :  18:25:47  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
In the city of hills they wake up under a higher sky. Salty clouds crowd the window and dapple the counterpane. There's a bay view to look out to. Ships in the harbor. A flotilla of sun-crowned sails. His fine-china cup mind on the edge of the counter when the number 15 trolley rides by. He's talking about flying, "...not in a plane or a dream..." he says. His voice in the kitchen amplified by steam.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2173 Posts

Posted - 05/06/2016 :  17:36:00  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Harbor Sunset. Container cranes like prehistoric skeletons. And their miniature children, the stilted herons stalking the edge of a tilted world. Beyond the bridge a small squall. A pocket rain. A ruby at the top of a mast passing under. Some evenings he'd measure it all with his arms spread wide on the balcony. His silhouette in the burnished light a Rosebud mystery.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2173 Posts

Posted - 05/10/2016 :  19:41:37  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply

He'd trace his brow. He'd place a thought there. His mouth full of smoke. His words on fire. Coal nights when the stars came down. Where they sat knee to knee with their stories and cold shoulders. The moon rocking in its sky-locked cradle.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2173 Posts

Posted - 05/24/2016 :  16:04:48  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply

Vines climbing up through the floor boards. Boats moored beneath the bed. A blue bonnet meadow. A tin man tower. A leap of faith through the looking glass. Ink-stained sheets and dog-eared pages. A handmade patchwork quilt. Day to day miles of chipped and fractured light on the shoulder of a glass-edged freeway. Time running on with its limited amount of breaths. "Do this for me," he said.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2173 Posts

Posted - 06/03/2016 :  16:54:39  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Coffee Shop on the corner with its tiny curbside tables. Landing gear coming down. American and Alaska Air stair-stepped over Interstate 5 when Southwest hits the edge of the North Harbor runway. Their sunburned hands and caffeine-lit faces. Their acute curiosity so dangerously alive.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2173 Posts

Posted - 06/03/2016 :  16:58:44  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply

A woman tells stories to a man in Sign. He listens with his eyes closed. His dusty eyelashes flutter. His breath leaves petals of frost on the air. Birds perch on wires like notes on the sky. A lemon-lime breeze stirs the chimes. Arcane Eden. So foreign. So familiar. Grass-green blades leave thin red lines on her hands.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2173 Posts

Posted - 06/15/2016 :  20:56:50  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Death Valley Junction. Amargosa ghosts. She painted her audience as she wished them to appear. The Juggler and the Fan Lady. Afternoon tea with the Knight. Cats and ballerinas. Rooftop dwellers and court jesters and harlequin masks. And soaring above all...the ceiling musicians. In her feather boa and enchanted ivory shoes Marta Becket danced.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2173 Posts

Posted - 06/15/2016 :  21:01:33  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
They're shooting green bottles off a broken stone wall 280 feet below sea level. All brittle light and harsh beauty somewhere near Badwater Basin. The ocotillo flickers at flashpoint. The air crackles like cellophane around them. Their static-charged hands and faces are pins and needles. His lightning-fast draw. His peppery grin. His conspiratorial wink. A natural disturbance. A crease in the universe. A fate-sealed moment in time.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2173 Posts

Posted - 06/18/2016 :  20:16:57  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Twenty-plus switch-back miles strung over the wind-whirled Santa Monica's. Hidden peak trail off Mulholland to some future he remembers just beyond the dust of the past. A single-file path. A ridgeline through fire bloom and low glowing clover. An acrobat's balancing act. A script that's constantly changing. (Conversations of contrails and pixels. Stories to tell still untold. A stop to collect the mail that's constantly forwarded. A donut run and coffee.) His shadow crosses the floor. His profile that never changes. The house goes on so quietly around them.
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