As the wind lifted the damp tendril of hair from the nape of her neck, she glanced around quickly to see if she'd been quick enough to catch a glimpse of the Wairua that walked boldy across her grave...No such luck! Gone to dust...they say it starts with a flutter of the heart and then a cold, damp surge of knowing while goosebumps invade your skin and lift the hairs from your body....but they don't tell you about the pit of dread that is unleashed within your soul...the embrace of the melancholy....the taste of the air, heavy with waiting. The smell of knowing weighing you down with the addded poundage of ....may be I'm right!
Oh...God...don't let me be right!!!
A bead of sweat was released from my forehead as I bowed my head and gave in to the feeliing of the inevitable...the call of the wild...the step from the cliff....the blind slide into ???? My hair fell softly back down upon my skin that had awakened with the imminent buzz of cold fear. The spirit had trodden heavily and I could feel its wake....
Take that step, spread those wings, tis only right that the spirit would sing
don't look back upon the path, it is not now,
for it is this moment that will last
the past and future are here and now, let the sweat bead upon your brow
the only time worth its weight, is the here and now, future is never past is too late
I move the damp tendril and know I am watching me....hehehe to be split in two and then I glance at myself from above, 3 ways or is the number not important just the doing? I type the story on my laptop and know that I am watching me in my mind. The ink on the paper relegates my observations to a 2-dimensional world and yet the dimensions are infinite. I type while watching myself move a damp tendril then laugh as I notice from above that my hair is all mussed up and so the words are typed and as I move the tendril I smooth the mussed up hair, in all dimensions....the movement of a tendril is enacted and observed...but which one is reality.....
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