My Fleetings Wor(l)ds has expended (what a paradox in such a limited space!) and traveled to another Indigo planet: INDIGRAPHE. Or to be more accurate INDIBLOG. It is a tiny step, it is a giant step, it is such a beautiful recognition, filling my Monday with a spring sun. This article was therefore originally written for the French website aforementioned, and I have decided to share it with my English readers in exclusivity on my blog.
It’s raining wet, it’s time for a frogs’ party. Snails are having a secret meeting on the little fence full of pollen.
Frozen wanderer, I am looking into the world throughout my window. I am gazing at perfectly happy snails whilst I am locked down, whilst I am quarantined. How do I envy this snails’ race, how I would like to move in slow motion in the rain as well; my immensity to be a little fence, my delight to be a spring tear.
I already lived my dreamy abyss though. It was yesterday, it was thousands of years ago. Maybe. I was standing alone in the world, my immensity was an American red desert, my delight was a Utah winter sun. I was standing alone in the world, transcended by my wanderings, by my metamorphosing soul, by the butterfly moving inside me.
I had waited for weeks, for years, for those red landscapes, I had cherished every minute of this precious wait towards this. And all of a sudden, I encountered them almost blue so white the snow was. Was I disappointed, no! I cried so amazingly surprising they were, so little the color mattered; the land got such peculiar shapes. It was giant and unbelievable.
I was so full of joy, of love, of opportunities. I couldn’t believe it. I could feel all my cells reacting with my American transformer journey. America was feeding my free fire, my life fire, my love fire. America was giving right to my boldness, I was allowed to dream big and believe in the impossible. America allowed me to want more, all the time. America opened me to the world, confident and fearless.
I thus walked along many sunny cliffs, I gazed at the Earth’s cracks. Absolutely alone. I was the queen of the world in front of a giant abyss. I sang. I fell in love. I was perfectly now.
It’s raining wet, it’s time for a frogs’ party. Snails are having a secret meeting on the little fence full of pollen. And I run among them like a child. Picturing another world, reaching another country. My dreams are delightfully getting wet in the rain, Ireland is whispering through the drops, coloring my window in green, reminding me everything is possible.
Oh, Ireland, what an unreachable world today, probably tormented by Atlantic winds, scratched by eternal storms. Oh, Ireland, how I miss you… why haven’t I met you when it was still time!
Ireland, you totally and irretrievably rocked my soul and heart. Ireland, you will always keep a part of me in your wind and seas. Ireland, you are my internal war and my reconciliation. Ireland, you questioned everything that I knew about me, blowing me up in thousands of tiny pieces that I couldn’t even remember to be part of who I was. Ireland, you healed each of my wounded pieces a little ways down the road, put them together like one of Picasso’s paints and enlightened the road towards another version of myself. Ireland, you are my eternal heaven. Ireland, I chose you, a few weeks ago and after so many American wanderings, for my fleeting world in order to lie my soul for a while. Awaiting for my right place on Earth.
Ireland, you are waiting for me though, as immobile as I am, ready to welcome my next dormant wandering, ready to follow my dreams and transcend them on paper.
But…
Let night sound the hour
The days go by, I remain
It’s raining wet, it’s time for a frogs’ party. Snails are having a secret meeting on the little fence full of pollen. They are going, lonely: I gaze at their strange eyes, invisibly linked to clouds. I admire their soft body moving under their shell. Snails might be quick in the end. “Quick” might be too big of a word, it depends on the viewer. Each absent movement is extremely slow, yet they are moving.
My soul longs for their race. I draw my own path, taking my time to deliver my dreams on paper. I am matching the quarantine limiting us, the prison freeing us. Isolation is only a word now, nothing real nor understandable; it is only an excuse for my unchanged journey.
And I praise for immobility. I cherish this quarantine endless beauty, I am not moved by my New World’s giant cracks anymore, neither by my Other World Island’s violent elements; I gaze at the minuscule, I am getting lost in snails’ slow motion waltz.
It’s raining wet, it’s time for a frogs’ party.
Justine T.Annezo – April 21st 2020, Carcassonne – GMT+2
Fleeting Wor(l)ds 