Hark! The sound of fallen angels: pitiful given the circumstances. My days of naivety are behind me: eschewed forever. I’m not taken in. Why should I pretend I don’t know what’s going on? I’ve given up on deceit and guess what, I never, ever forgive.
( They’re downstairs laughing with their unoriginal friends. Ghastly parasites the lot of them. Squawking like demented parrots released from their gilded cages) .
Thank goodness I have a patient soul.
So, I’ll turn another page of my new book. And now another. It’s all about Amber. I need to be a collector. I sense that it’s my vocation, even an imperative, and then summer will stay with me forever.
Look here, over my shoulder. Aren’t all these creatures preserved so incredibly, so fantastically, within Amber’s honeyed prison – for a miraculous eternity?
Who needs God when there is Amber?
Now, holding this piece in the palm of my hand, letting it bask in the morning sunshine through the attic window, I feel such a sense of peace. Look at all these etiolated legs. These fragile antennae. Even would you believe, the tiniest pair of eyes?
All trapped in a lost time. A golden time.
I like creative writing ✍