Pause. Breathe.

I feel like this space has been lost to the realm of iPhonography. I have been writing a lot lately, but I'm not willing to put most of it on this space yet. There was a beautiful moment the other day though when the weather was stunning and all I could do was think of Sam. I wished I could have taken a leaf out of his book and sat under the stars, but instead I rushed inside to write down his story.

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Andrei Tarkovsky
via pinterest

The smell of wet earth rose to meet him. It dripped off of the wiry clothesline and seeped out of the dirt into the thick, pungent air. As he walked back into the house the smell found his nostrils.

Pause.

Breathe.

Sam turned around. Walked over to the garden and heaved the wondrous aroma in as deep as it would go. Only a few days of hot, summery weather and already the earth had dried and cracked. The late shower had surprised the land. The roads would be slick and slippery tonight, and the sky clear and blue in the morning before the summer haze truly set in.

Sam couldn't bear to leave this moment. The peace. The stillness. He walked out and over the overrun brick path that ran past the pillars of the veranda and let his body move towards the ground. His back against the thickset wooden support, he looked up at the cloudy sky, a few stars, a few glimpses of heaven, shining brightly through.

It was late. He should be asleep. But, with the warm light of the passageway dimly falling through the crumbling fly wire door, Sam knew he had to share this moment of peace with a land who was revelling in a moment that it was coming to remember would soon be very rare.

He closed his eyes, drew the smell further into his body and looked again at the stars, the branches of an old tree glistening in the forefront and the thought of his younger brothers and sisters breathing soundly asleep inside putting him at ease.