The buzz reminds of cicadas, the one that is through the side entrance. The buzz next to me is more like a purr of a cat.
And slowly, surely, the flowers bloom on my hands. Slowly bleeding out to be perfectly healed in time, to be beautiful and be a sort of reminder and shield.
The fluff from trees outside the window floating in the air, as the slow breeze takes it swirling round. It looks like the slow-motion frames of a movie – Magical.
It really does seem magical. Like time in itself pours slowly, to the buzz of cicada.
Not fully summer yet, but the blooming flowers and greens of trees makes it seem like it is nearing, inching closer – summer, that is.
Ah, even though there is the two of us in the room, it is silent. Just the buzz of machine. Just the chat of the hairdressers outside in the corridor. Not like there is much to what they talk about – just the typical mundane things and rumours that swirl from tongue to tongue.
As I keep staring out the window onto sunlit scenery of magic in the air, like soap bubbles, slowly, beautifully, with a sense of pace…
Interesting how is that cat? Crawls in my head. You know, that cat in the old building block that looks like old man, falling apart from the rust and dust of time, creaking and whistling, having weeds and bushes with trees growing from him, from all sides. Not one man spent time taking care of this old building. Such waste.
But the cat though! It was there like a sort of warden, like a magical cat that is the keeper of the gates to this mad old thing. And he was similar to the building – scruffy, dirty, yet the furr is puffy and big. Sort of a mixture of lion and wolf. The magical cat that keeps watch.
And lately I have been visiting that sad looking land, checking for cat – yet for a week on – can’t see him.
Like he went through the dark passage to the cat town, that is in another world. Leaving the empty, shabby looking old building. And it is so awkwardly silent there. Just the singing of birds, the flutter of their wings. Pigeons and starlings with few sparrows occupying some air.
The legend of the warden cat, I thought. There should be such a story.
The shine of sun through green busting tree branches, the waving of the leaves. And fluff is on and on, falling in slow motion.
Art by Evgeny Botvinnik on ArtStation