Jasmine Leaves and Rain

sunrisesunset

Sunrise/Sunset, Christmas 2015

Now.

It’s an instagram world: on a given morning where I live, I may be the only person awake and motivated enough to chance that pre-dawn black will catch fire before settling into slate ash before true sunrise.

Sometimes all I see is a dot of red light swaddled in gray, a counterpoint to dessicated berries on emptying branches which host only a few stolid seaside birds.

gray 105

But with a soundless press of a finger to cool glass I can share each moment’s image with people in other parts of the world–still dreaming, winding down their workdays, daydreaming at mid-day, caught among countless joys and unfathomable sorrows.

The images are for eyes alone: you cannot hear the rustle of seagrass, or seagulls nattering, or a child’s giggle in the distance; you cannot feel the wind or taste the air; you cannot smell a hint of distant sulfur .

My “Just Now” is no one else’s, and no one else’s is truly accessible to me.

a ladybug, its carapace blown open
so a translucent trace of orange gleams
from its body, has ascended link by link
the smudgy silver curve of my watch band.
It must have helicoptered past the sill
while I was slumped here squinting in the paper
at the ashen packaging another bombing’s
made of a minivan. Made available
in the photo like the homeless in a poem.

About Stephanie

In her spare time, Stephanie works full-time, and then some, as an attorney. She has published articles and delivered talks in arcane fields like evidentiary issues, jury instructions, expert witnesses, and forensic evidence. She also is an adjunct professor at a law school on the banks of the Charles and loves that dirty water, as she will always think of Boston as her home. You are welcome to take a look at her Facebook author page, or follow @SMartinGlennon on Twitter. All content on this blog, unless otherwise attributed, is (c) 2012-2016 by Stephanie M. Glennon and should not be reproduced (in any form other than re-blogging in accordance with Wordpress protocol and the numerous other wee buttons at the bottom of each post) without the express permission of the domain holder.
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5 Responses to Jasmine Leaves and Rain

  1. rutakintome says:

    For eyes alone, yes, but I have memories of salty air, and singing surf in surround sound that makes it all come alive. Merry New Year.

  2. Beautiful words again, Stephanie. “Countless joys and unfathomable sorrow.” How true as we all consider this time of year. Memories simultaneously warm and cold.
    Blessings to you in the coming year. May the memories in the days ahead be warm.

  3. Pingback: Now | Chris Breebaart Photography / What's (in) the picture?

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