Neon and Yellow Blizzards

The snow cut across my skin, as I lay on my back staring at the ceiling. The rucksack made us slouch and drag our feet making big foot marks. You don't hear heels click, just a squishy squashy sound. Splush. Never smell your shoes after one of these walks. Crystals, they ought to look like, but fell like heaps. Snow fell, like old memories just hitting and trying to blind me.

I escape and dodge, hoping for some rain. The parched desert is filled with rain. The water falls and seeps into the ground leaving still dryness. I feel thefear of height, the sense of psychotic vertigo as I walk on the plain. This plain is filled with sand dunes and plateaux. An angel wrapped in blue walks past us. We are four. She is one, with her child. He flies. You know, with those tiny little wings. The snow still falls. Not leaves. Not rain. Not clouds. Snow.

The heaviness makes me want to faint. I faint and feel the edge of drowning, I wake up in fear. The whiteness of the ceiling nears my head. Blackout in white. A severe headache pierces through me. I can only see a lizard. He stares down at me and then at a moth. The moth is too far behind that I can see only one wing of hers. Fly moth, now. The lizard is filled with stealth and bad-mouths my presence. I get lost! Let happenings play. Somewhere in the distance, a phone rings.

Way across the book piles and old coffee mugs, if you look beyond my head, you see a phone. I see a phone. Black and old, new to history. It favours its tenant with love and care, dust. He sleeps on it day and night and years together in my timelines. Time has never been linear, it refuses to be remembered and associated so. Yet, time is clever. He manages to move on and on. The calendar pages flip. A quote on it: "What will our children do in the morning, if they do not see us fly?" Rumi.

I catch the breeze in my hand and with strength tear of the dates. With no dates I don't see the movement of time. Time wouldn't be a concept. K and P are silent in many words. Why? Why not? Why? Why not? How? Sleep. I've never touched or walked on snow.