At twilight we scramble past rocks and moss-filled beaches, as our feet skim the lake’s surface, squishing into pillow sand; we crouch in anticipation for a silver scale to gleam. The setting sun blinds, but neither of us are scared for we know now, is time to catch glittering fish-dragons; we’ve lost enough to ensure we grasp them all. They’re shadows leap into the marmalade sky, plashless but fated the moment we spotted them.
“Today’s prompt is Catch Me When I Fall. Finding that person who will support you at every turn is such an important part of any relationship. Also significant is what happens after the fall. How would you describe the balance between giving support and receiving it?”
In university, most professors agree that encyclopedias are not proper scholarly sources, but they work well as background information; to discover facts that require further support. Old books waft certain aromas, a headiness, but also a mustiness, an acrid reminder of the past and all the knowledge these encyclopedias contain; knowledge judged inaccurate and unreliable alone.
I was studying the poet Samual Taylor Coleridge, and I paused, thinking if in the academic ‘encyclopedia’ of my Literary Criticism textbook, Coleridge’s writing was valid and acclaimed by modern peers, or if he too spouted words too many scholars scoff at and ignore; does his literary criticism require more validation — the answer is simple, nothing can be read at face value, not even the musings of great poets.
On these dark nights, sometimes the words slip away; my mind’s a sieve. I’ve ideas but the fog wanders inside, and whatever I try, I cannot define these thoughts; it’s as if my wings are shorn, clipped from flight. I’m a bluebird singing her harmonious tune, while some melodies become ethereal disappearing into the sun, while others trickle onto paper, wet tears searing; somehow I define them in blips.