Then we turned off our flashlights.

The stable was made of stone, and Daniel's two windows touched the ground. We rustled through the ivy and crouched down by a window. In the dark, between the leaves, fumes were rising of wet earth. The stone was musty as we leaned into it. The curtains were drawn. We could hear him practicing his Beethoven sonata, repeating four notes over and over. He would probably do this until two or four in the morning. He was in his own solitary world, but the light edging the curtains was warm.

What if I told you that bacteria can communicate? With each other, with bacteria of different species (and thus, of a different “language”), and even with you?

le ciel et le soleil
call my name
beckoning with fingers
blue
and broken up
by white
la vie and the
breeze
know what to say
to me
blanketed by green
I walk
wet sidewalks
il pluie
and breathe
reminding myself
to embody
a simple state
of being
in every day
refreshing play
until it is
fini

"So that's what you are,"

He whispered in awe.

"Yes, that is what I am; no more, no less. So take me as I am, or leave me. All I ask is that you decide quickly, and spare me the pain of waiting."

Her soft voice came in halts, strangely foreign to her normally smooth tones. It barely sounded above the pouring rain.

He watched the water drip through her eyelashes and slowly roll down the bridge of her nose while he prepared his answer.

***

Sleepless nights and hopeless days
Nothing sought for, nor to say
Dreamless sleep and lifeless wake
Love once held becoming fake

Indecision fogs the sky
Time's too fast for a last goodbye
Consequences must be faced
Love is lost as we fall from grace

For all the promises we make
We're slipping backward day by day

Even as demons run and skies grow dark,
May we never part.
The day grows old and time stands still,
Since we never will.
While the world ends in calamity,
Here is where we'll be,
Outside, underneath the falling stars,
In each others arms.
Amidst the fire and through it all,
We are standing tall.
The sky, it burns, and the heavens blaze.
We are near, always.
To the stars and yet further beyond,
We are holding on.
The earth opens up to the hell below.
We will not let go.

For many years, I’ve stood alone;
I’ve watched the world grow old and gray;
I’ve seen the lands around me fail;
I’ve viewed events both wild and fey.

But I’ve observed some joyful times,
Where life is full of lilies white;
Where waterfalls and rivers sing;
Which make for such a pretty sight.

Yet through the years there was one scene:
A home that welcomed all who came
A life where peace and patience thrived
A love that none on earth could maim.

Sun sets so low.
Fire lights the sky.
I asked you to come home.
I asked you not to die.

My brave soldier boy,
Fighting for so long.
My little soldier boy,
Please do come home.

When you cried your first
To when you hugged me last,
You’re gone forever and I thirst
So much for the blissful past.

My son, you promised me so firmly
When you were shipped away,
While, so tightly, you hugged me,
That on enemy soil you would not lay.

Do you dread the inevitable onset of lines and wrinkles? Are you helplessly bemoaning the fading luster in your youthful skin? Do you look at your deflated, once-toned triceps and wonder why you can’t seem to return them to their youthful tightness? Are you tired after too many beauty treatments have failed you? Are you economically and emotionally bankrupt after trying cream after cream that promised - and failed - to restore youthful glow and beauty to your hair and skin?

Florence (Firenze), region of Tuscany, Italy
December, 1490