gibberish of a moment

Finding the first word among a string of others that will follow appears to be the hardest thing. How about starting with the small, absolute rings of waterwaves on a pond, that a fresh wind brings in now and then or the loving wings that dip its edges delicately into the water in a graceful motion before the little bird flitters away from the water upwards to the sky again…

I often feel that the ‘pelican’ is a very delicate word that can drift in between the mossy waters, shivering uncertainly on whether to endow its entire meaning into the flowing, moving spirit of a bird or into something else, something sinewy, beautiful, small or big.

The child of the jungle would easily be able to swoop from one branch to another, clinging at the gnarled root hanging down over the swampy waters before it embraces some cool, round, covered comfort. (Would it understand the meaning, the taste, the slow melting-in-the-tongue quality of the pelican I wonder…faraway, mysterious, yet near - almost achievable; would it feel the tingling sensations that begin to rush from head to toe but stop somewhere down the bridge of the nose or the glide of the fingers.)

It is in this world that you play within the fateful vapour-rising waters and skies…peep outside the window and it promises to be a rainy day, fresh cleaned from recent rains-rainwashed skies, limbs achingly tired, the imagination painting pictures that overtake the eagle in mid-flight and give to it an other-worldly beauty that the bird had no way of knowing…the tiger’s claw, the jungle’s smell,little mowglie’s shout..all intertwine to complete this reality.