Kia Ora

I was listening to the Shins’ ‘The Past and Pending’ and every line reminded me of my grandmother.

as someone sets light to the first fire of autumn,
a rocky road descending into a straight road to Home,
in the darkness paths converge into liminality
blind to the last hapless view of boundless time.

i’ve walked the route before innumerable times, but I never realised the parallels that sands of time offer us so greatly. When we were walking past the building that used to be my kindergarten — where you’ll always wait on the outside for me at two pm to hold my hand and take me home, the irony and aching similarity of the current time kept its resonance. I wonder if you thought about that, too.

i’ll like to believe when you lose yourself to the paradox of this world and to the deep everything turns blue.

the walk back I gripped to your hand, fingers interlaced, old on new
for we (I) are (am) all too aware of the pending.
chill as moonshine makes its way back into the day
and silence as we took baby steps across places familiar –
arraying; I have my feet to the West Coast sun.

please don’t forget about me… and see me through ‘some foreign candle burning in your eyes

And in mine, too. I wonder what you think about nowadays; where I have my head brimmed with things most definitely unimportant in years to come? Do you hold to the past, but yet too aware of the pending? Or do you keep to living in the light, watching over a yelling great-grandson with those lovingly forceful eyes, the way you used to look at me? 


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