ElikaFM

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By the silver birch tree

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A man has moved into the garden, set up camp by the silver birch tree. I don’t know when he got here or how long it took him to walk. His boots are torn and his clothes are ripped and his hair is shaggy and dark.

The man has a silver radio which he listens to most of the time. His lips move when the news talks out and he cranes close, head tilted to the sound of the voice. He likes to listen to orchestras, the strings and the bass and the drums. Often he talks to the squirrels and sometimes he takes off his boots. He stands in the earth of the flower beds and whistles and moves to the tune. Some nights I go out to talk to him, take him some milk and some bread. He tells me stories that make me smile and we smoke and later we drink. One day I guess he will leave me, or the garden, of course, I meant. But at least I have what he told me: that sometimes we must mark out new journeys, though we’ll lose some things that we loved. And lost love can break hearts to pieces, but new love will gather them up.

Are you still on your journey, I ask.

Yes, my darling, I am.

Is your heart broken or mended?

My heart is broken apart.

How long have you been walking?

Nearly a year to the day.

When will your journey be over?

Soon, he said in a murmur, as soon as the next spring has passed.

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Written by elikafm

November 13, 2010 at 2:24 pm

Posted in Uncategorized

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