When you lose one sense, the others attune themselves to the world, they become sharper, more prominent. A single drop of a leaf to the ground, was enough to cause my head to stir, my eyes to draw up and twinkle with curiosity. My eyes, they saw much. The way the leaves turned to a beautiful mauve as they skimmed the top of the water, like little boats, they sailed on and on, to another destination, to the end, perhaps. The End, how it felt so final, so rigid in it's property. There was not finality yet, I was certain. Even though the hope was crumbling through my tentatively gripped fingers, it was still there, slivers remained and pressed against my heart, my soul.
I suppose when you lose hope, you lose yourself, and then, then perhaps The End, is far more befitting.
Teal eyes study the water's edge, mottled muzzle lowering and touching the bank of weeds and dying gorse. I picked a few strands, idly chewed, before dropping the morsel back to the earth. Mulching it down with my flinty hooves. I blew a breath, and inhaled deeply. The scent of autumn was as rich as the field; there was newness and old, worn leaves replacing the vivid new ones that refused to budge, not yet at least. Even though winter's reign was just about to be crowned, they would cling with a perseverance that I quite admired. Even in adversity, the green leaf clings to the branch, unmoving, even as the first snow falls, only then, as the cold bites and stings, does it fall.
I spend far too much time in my quiet observations, and yet I believe I learn a lot, simply by staring, by watching. When one has lost a sense completely, especially one that is held close to one's chest, they become attuned to the world in a whole new light. I did not lose my voice per say, my lungs had filled with air the moment I was born but even when my mother had forced me to speak, nothing came. Silence, empty and cold, filled her ears. That was why she hated me, I was sure.
In my observations, I drew my head up, ears flickering, hearing the dull thuds of approaching hooves. Soft eyes drew a whole persona for the grey steed, before he even settled beside me. My lips curve into a small smile, feather-light against my face. A blink and he was sure to miss it. Feathered lobes capture his words, ingest them with the same curious contemplation, the glass-like marble eye, that stays perfectly aligned on him.
How hard it is to first meet someone, and not say Hello. My lungs fill with what would have been a glorious breath, followed by a gentle, lilting voice. I always imagined what my voice would sound like; perhaps the soft tune of a lark, the lilting touch of a butterfly. I never will know. All I manage is to extend my neck, bridging the gap between us, by a few feet, soft velvet muzzle twitching. Inhaling his scent; he smelt of wildflowers and earth, of open spaces and freedom. The smell, it tasted on my tongue, what the sweet clover in spring reminds me of.
Soundless lips curve once more, a gentle smile. Eyes blink several times, meeting his. When you cannot speak, you use your other senses, your body. But it was always made difficult when met with strained, empty stares. I gulped a breath and pawed at the earth, digging at the weed torn ground.
The sun is okay, the dying grass is okay. I.. I am not sure if I am okay. the thought slips my mind, like the passing leaf that had sailed down the river. Quick, lost within moments. Oh, this was a hardship. A hardship indeed.
adelphia
i'll miss you like the stars miss the sun in the morning sky