Save me. I am ready to be rescued.
The approach. Are you there?
Yes, I’m here.
Good.
We must start a fire now, we must warm ourselves from inside, we must create heat in order for this heavy mantle to melt. We must light the fire of breath, move it like the sun from one place to another. The heat of the sun will melt the moon. The ice falls from our lips as we bring breath toward us, quickening the flame of life, fill nostrils, fill chest, warmer now . . . imperceptibly warmer, blood moves.
River awakens as ice melts; still everything is so still, only breath can move.
Breath is the light of god, bringing dawn to the crevices of early rock that sleep soundly, waiting for the call, Breath of mountains and deserts, forests and glens, Breath is a small fire lit in the soul.
We can, after a very long time, awaken and stir. It has been a long, long time. A Rip Van Winkle long time. A crack in the window of time. A thin thread of existence has suspended us. We are simply suspended waiting we wait. Asleep.
Thoughts lay across these limbs, covering impulses . . . an executioner’s hand is raised.
Breath, breath, the fire starts no matter how small, how tentative. The sun pours down, flames and sun meet, the fire starts. We stir. Something moves. Are we alive? Yes. One must look for signs of life buried in the snow.”
~ Emilie Conrad ~ from Life On Land
