Wednesday, 11 April 2012

When the air stirs.

The air stirs. Is this what we’ve been waiting for?
Limbo is its own type of hell. The same day on a different day where the sun rises, the sun sets and everything in between is no more different to yesterday than an orange is from an orange.
There is one thing that changes: Hope. It’s whittled away month by month, day by day and finally minute by minute, the slow flailing by despair. The drinking water has turned bracken, the ship floats dead on a glassy mirror of ocean and the sails are flaccid, empty cloth.
There are moments when hope returns but quickly fades, when a teasing breeze fluffs a flag and momentarily ruffles a sail but then dissipates to nothing. Bitter disappointment filling its void, all hope once again gone and my soul sinks further down from where it previously sat.
We long for the winds of change, a stiff breeze to fluff the flags, fill the empty cloth and billow them into full-bosomed sails and the creaking of the wooden deck and rhythmic swaying. We look for the signs of a journey finally underway again and a future pregnant with hope and full of possibility.
The air stirs. Is this what we’ve been waiting for?