Tag Archives: lines

136. Lines (Light 9)

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The lines that are created by the absence of light, by shadow, are crucial to our lives. Boundaries, like this fence, and each delineation of panel, keep us sane. We need to have things broken up, cordoned off, edged, else we would just be lost in a sea of vastness, as we are when we look at the sky or the ocean. It is not something we are built to comprehend, this eternity, even though it is the entirety we are created to grow into, serving as we do, an infinite God. In this earthly life, we have need of our caves and our borders, our separateness. Once we begin to understand that we are all one, then we can let go of them a little at a time, like easing out rope.

text and photo © Keren Dibbens-Wyatt 2017

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150: Tarmac

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In the bleakness of almost December I think back, I remember, as my skin cracks in the cold, those long summer days of melting heat, when I stretched too far for my own surface and ran liquid across the road. I think of the bicycle stands sinking slowly into the depths of tar, like maybe trapped dinosaurs once did, and of tyre tracks that span conglomerate up into the air, spitting back down like hot hail.

For the cold is here now causing me to huddle my black beauty around centres of strength, and the weak places split like an old man’s smile. Lined I am now by more than white apartheid borders, yellow forbidden zones and cats’ eyes down my spine. Are you on the left or right? Or do you travel a middle way? Whichever you are can you see that those on the other side are as right or left as you are? For the other is not always different, and the seasons pass, and the sun will warm my epidermis again, till I simmer with stickiness like a ready rice pudding, and sparkle in the sun.

©Keren Dibbens-Wyatt 2015