The old man passed over the rooftop of Brinton farm and Middlely. The night orange hiss glowed above the county towns to the north. The countryside. He threaded the stars orange spangleblue and white. There was a sound that followed him. Not the hissing electricity sparking from the shoulders of the pylons over the towns and countryside. This was a thick low hum; sad and familiar, like radio static. The sound of dreams.
Sometimes there were words among the bees. The words came from behind a very heavy curtain, very far away. No sense to them. They came alone or one would be connected to another. The words butted and collided.
The orchard was beneath a gauze of fog. He passed through it, inches from the ground, circled the trees. He gazed at the homes and the corduroy fields and the bay and these snatches of language reached him. The street lights globed, blended the blues and threw shadowshapes over everything but him. He perched on the wardrobe in the boy’s room. He watched the boy sleeping. The hum was weak in the boy’s sleep , he put his voice out into the void. He wanted to say sorry, but he said the words butter door.
will he come visit me, fly over my asbestos roof, i want a dream spinner like this – this was utterly seductive to me.
LikeLiked by 1 person
He’s always out there somewhere.
Thanks, Gina.
LikeLiked by 1 person
oh my pleasure Nick, I will keep an eye out!
LikeLiked by 1 person
Wonderful! I would love to know more of the old man’s story–yet, I’m perfectly satisfied with just this glimpse.
LikeLiked by 1 person
‘glimpse’ – shine faintly: glimmer.
Lovely.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Yes. 🙂
LikeLike
So that’s what the journey to heaven is like…
Nice!
Ken
LikeLiked by 1 person
Gauzy and lovely, Nick, slant near rhymes suggest an echo (and what, I wonder, is this excerpted from? I see you tagged it so.)
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thanks for your eyes, Kim. And your vision.
Perhaps it’s more a WIP – but that’s Ok. xo
LikeLike
Effing great M. Reeves. The imagery is darkly ethereal I’m in love again thanks for sharing xo
LikeLiked by 1 person
🙂 xo
LikeLike
I have had several dreams like that; except I’m the one flying overhead. 🙂
LikeLiked by 1 person
Wundershon, MM! Generally, I’m to be found falling! Keep flying XO
LikeLiked by 1 person
I love your use of language, poetic and ethereal, and the way you describe the sound. “This was a quietening hum; sad and sort of familiar. The sound of the sleepers dreaming.” I didn’t know if this were dream or death. And that is kind of magnificent.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thanks, Rachel.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Your dreams are always so very beautiful. Unlike mine lol
LikeLiked by 1 person
Oh, this was no dream, Lorraine. This was real. x
LikeLiked by 1 person
That is so beautiful then x
LikeLike
Happy valentines niclus. 😘
LikeLiked by 2 people
Why, thank you kindly! And to you of course xx
LikeLiked by 1 person