catchlight… (16/March/18)

catchlight…
… caught in the artists brush, conveyed to canvas either deliberately or by accident, an unintended consequence or with an intention whose outcome until the moment remains uncertain… and then…… beyond a skill learned, catchlight is… the inexplicable, rarely attainable although sometimes, sometimes… there, there it is, perfection in a flaw, just before the exhale, there, there it is, stray serendipity…… catchlight…… where attraction lies… the unexpected, uncontrived, not learned, not procedure, not even experience, just… it happens or it doesn’t… lightning in a bottle?… or in a fist, open it it’s gone, was it ever there?…… no step-by-step, colour-by-numbers, how-to guide, no rules of engagement, no prescription… a glimmer in the eye, a hint on the skin, timbre in a voice, a moments inattention…… it’s an accident waiting to happen, a slip of the tongue, a glancing blow, a seemingly inconsequential aside… an unclaimed asymmetry……

© 2018 robert greig

measuring a thought (14/March/18)

the wind is like a scratch, an abrasion, a graze, gusts are contusions bruising the skin of the air that I breathe black and blue…. the wind scrapes and sores and scours… the wind weeps and cries and bellows, then yawns and dies and dies a last breath forgotten… the wind shakes, shudders, shivers, shambles and breaks, consumed by tantrums then resigned to exhaustion, sweet surrender… the wind grasps, grapples, scuffles wrestles only to conceded and recede… the wind is querulous…… the wind clings for dear life, a shape as undetermined as the sky… the wind is unrefined, cantankerously undefined, from one end to the other is like measuring a thought… the wind is a vandal, a hooligan, a thug… the wind is an artist, a sculptor, a dancer, sprayer of Aeolian graffiti, composer of the tonal and atonal…… the wind is a linguist, an acrobat, a juggler… the wind is a fugitive, an anarchist, a misanthrope… the wind is mischievous, flippant, diffident… the wind if serious, intentional and often inconsolable and never confessional… the wind is push and pull, give and take, heave and ho, warp and weft, wilful, disobedient, irascible……there’s wind that sometimes comes with rain, sometimes on its own, whipping waves, stripping soil, sweeping sand in scatterings of dust as it throws itself away… the wind is suicidal… the wind is well-groomed, unkempt, orderly,  ill-mannered, organised disorganised, well-versed and unrehearsed… the wind is inviting and ominous, coiled as a snake unravelling, in a spiral in a gyre down the chimney fans the fire, sleep and wakes, sleeps and wakes and while it sleeps it waits… the wind is hesitation and impatience…

© 2016 robert greig