Following Summer
She was a young woman, in her early twenties. Her hair was long, dark and curly, and she always wore flowing skirts, beaded shawls and bright necklaces. She travelled the world, chasing summer. She would stay in one place, but leave as soon as the nights grew cold, and the days grew short. North to south; south to north...
She was always searching for something – or someone. Maybe she was hiding from something, too. She was like a Gypsy; constantly travelling, but no one knew why. Her life was lonely and hard. She seemed to have no friends . . . but maybe she did. Maybe they were the people she was searching for. But why did she constantly chase the summertime? No one knew. Maybe even she didn’t know.
She slept in youth hostels, and ate cheap takeaway meals. She had to save all her money for flights, after all. She wrote songs, and performed them in bars. They were songs about loneliness, about long winding roads, and searching. Searching for someone. I guess her whole life was lonely. Lonely and hard.
Sometimes at night she would slip out of bed, pull on some clothes and go down to the beach. She didn’t bother with shoes; she never did. She would walk along the beach, in her sad and lonely solitude, listening to the waves crash along the shoreline, or even just standing, staring out to sea. Then, only then, did she allow a single tear to slip down her face and land on the cool, pale sand.
* * *
One hot December day, on the beaches of Australia, the young woman was sitting on the sand, watching a father, mother, and two excited children play a game of cricket on the beach. The children were running to and fro, trying to catch the ball their father had hit.
Suddenly, a man appeared. He was much older than the woman. His hair was graying, and he had a small beard. The woman stared at the man. Then, suddenly, she leapt up from the sand and ran to him. “Pa!”
They hugged each other tight. “Summer. My little Summer,” the man said wearily. “I have been searching for you for many years… so many, many years.”
“And me for you,” Summer whispered. Her heart was suddenly weary, so very weary . . . but she didn’t care, for at last, after years and years, she had finally found the person who she had been searching for. Her father.
Fire;Magic
(Inkheart Fanfiction)
Fire.
His element.
He juggles it,
The crowd ‘oohh’s and ‘ahhh’s,
Astounded, enraptured,
Captured,
Bewitched…
Surely no one in the world can juggle like Dustfinger…
And certainly not better.
No, it’s simply not possible.
And the flames lick his arms and he tosses it high,
It burns bright,
Brighter,
Brighter,
And it leaps.
Jumping like a tame animal,
Though fire could never be tame…
Not even for him,
He doesn’t tame it…
He doesn’t capture it…
He befriends it.
It is Magic.
Purely magic.
Simply magic.
Nothing but Magic!
Start to Stop
Does it make sense,
That we destroy our planet
When we’re the ones who need it?
No.
Is it logical that even though we know what we’re doing,
We still continue it?
Of course not.
But still we keep going, going, going. . .
And we know we should stop but we don’t.
And it makes me sick
To know
What we’re doing
And that I’m a part of it,
Sucked along by this wave of humanity…
Why,
Why,
WHY?
That is what I ask.
So, today I start.
I start to stop.
