spiritual

Gaivota

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She woke to the sound of the timber, loud and clear as if trumpted by the clock calculating the dear departed. It ran in obscurity, obsessively slow, solicitously mutating, taking a life of its own. She thought it was the town snake, snoozing its way through the mud; perhaps, the eerie dwarf across the street spreading a cheaper version of the salad dressing recipe to the residents but it wasn’t. Legend is, it wasn’t even a story but as clear as mama’s homemade grits: the old weasel, the security guard, drunk as skunk, snoring his hearts content as he slept.
©️Angela Aguiar

Snubbed

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Rekindling the fire in her heart, she searched for the mystical bridge taken in by the fog, hoping to catch the miracle wagon going by. Humid and drizzling, the journey was still raw. Images of a dejected melancholic carriage left stranded in a dark alley, featured on the quarterly review. Conversation abound, negotiations on hand, doctor’s office was put on notice. The clock was ticking at the tip of the hour, unhurridly, one pointer at the time and as the fog began to fade miserably, the flock silenced the clumsy nightfall rescued by a peppermint light bulb moment.

©️Angela Aguiar

Crossings

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The rope was swerving indiscriminately with guided missile precision, faulting the poor handkerchief tree leaf trying to cuddle it. Hanguing helplessly to flee from the predator, the resilient, conscious, optimistic and self-determined procrastinator was buoyantly in control but not ready to shout his glory through the empty canister just yet. Whilst the birdcage stood tall, singing the hallelujah song, he searched for the road less traveled to an incubator across the street, running into a draw bridge instead.

©️Angela Aguiar