pi & anne

bird spinning
out of the blue
its afterglow

“When you go to heaven, you have to die first,” she says with her small, fierce voice. It echoes in his head. The world appreciates smiles, so he bares his teeth, a smirking anarchist. I watch you. You watch me.

He tries to taste each word as she watches the clay change in his hands. With a small, dented knife, he adds the eyes and the outline of wings to the rough shape of a clay pigeon on a small wooden stool he has between his knees. This way he can work directly by the riverside.

sealskin concealed in a treasure box old diaries

The old man turns around, takes care to look her in the eye. “Yes, you have to. When you go to heaven, you leave everything behind—the wars of inner and outer noise, the weighing and the letting go, the pushing, the breathing in and the digging out. Your ’youness’ dies in heaven. Not before.”

He only throws pieces of interest on the table, rice pudding with mango. You have to start small with the leaking and the hints.

She does not answer, her feet bump restlessly together, opening the round in tiny gongs. Go on, go on, go on.

sparklers circle orange pigeon’s eye

“I see your point. However, I don’t agree with you being wiser than me. Is that the reason why you’re still here?” Her hands sneakily snatch the pigeon from the worktop before he can go on, and she puts her nose to the damp beak.

“I am a realist and choose the mud,” she states.

There they sit, the old man and the child. That sentence he already has on the tip of his tongue is not yet ready for the dinner table. Quite heavy going.

“I know who you are and who has sent you to me. Don’t giggle. You want to question my hiding.” He takes another handful of clay, but the wetness makes him shiver. So be it. Right at his feet, the girl begins to breathe on the clay pigeon, its wings vibrating with each exhale. He waits for it not to happen. That the pigeon will not fly. He is still waiting. Somehow.

mating dragonflies
looks through
and through

“There is always an in-between, Old Man.” She mimics his calm resistance and shows him her non-face. The pigeon on her palm goes down, then up, and takes flight.

“You have destroyed the bird, you little troublemaker.” His hands sink to his apron, which is completely covered with stains.

“I would not be so sure of that. I have given it some heaven and some new water to dissolve. The river brings it back, back here to you. The river brings it back.” She jumps into the bank and the clay covers her legs.

please change
as you see fit
dark brown sheep