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Feeling tall, but still so small, flying across an English lawn.  One glance behind caused the terrible crash, the apple tree, bearing a single piece of half-rotted fruit, stood strong.  The children laughed, though not freely, I lay in a dazed green garden, smarting.

Much further back I, like you, instinctively knew love, deep from the eyes where a well dwelt of life, laughter, lightness, joy.  But that memory was almost entirely lost in me, and now in the throbbing pain, I whispered, “Where are you, still in Eden?”

Slithering words through the blades of grass, words that cut—be better, alone, show them, you can earn millions, catch what you can kiss, like butterflies enjoy those moments before they fall mid-flight on the shore of time.  They are words that whisper of self, to love when loved, give when given to, return hate with hate, and fear with fear.

Looking along the grass, feeling the fresh free breeze, I saw a man step down, was it from the tree?  With warm eyes, he raised me like a Father, teaching me through the pain of the rotten fruit tree.  I now saw the tree marked, holding him momentarily.  Then I was standing again, not afraid of laughter, but with laughter.  I feared neither death nor anything else, I faced only a well of life.  I laughed, we ran and played all day.

All day we shall run, play, rest in an endless wild coastal mountain garden.

Words will uplift, nothing shall fall in pain.

Precious joyful deep-hearted laughter will reign.


Words & Photo by Jonathan McCallum

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