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Sarah had the eyes of dove feathers, not the albino kind, but the ones with a hue so softly grey that they could have been pencil drawn. They had that look of birds flying on sunlit days, the shine and quick movement, yet relaxed, purposeful, at ease.
Barely has the snow become water to hydrate the soil, than the primrose opens. She is the colour of soft baby dreams, of clouds infused with gold and stirred with milk. In the middle is hearty tangerine, as if she blushed from the first kiss of spring. I take a moment feel the almost-silent happiness that comes from this simple flower, for in all this crazy world she has the courage to bloom so boldly.
The apple had a gold star radiating from the stem, gently blending with that colour as vibrant as love's blush. It rested there, in the nest of my fingers, giving a calming coolness upon my palm - solid enough to be noticed, light enough to stay there. It was the prettiest "juice container" I'd ever seen and delicious to the core.
I try to be an ethical thief, people admire Robin Hood, right? I'm not stealing to sell it, or buy drugs or be bad. It's just that my wages don't buy clothes and a roof and heating and pay all the taxes and bills. There are guys a block away that pull 300 an hour when I scrape 10. How are they worth 30 times more than me? Seriously? So I steal. I take the cheapest thing that will do the job and I feed my kids. It ain't luxury; it's survival and if you don't like it you can stick it because I do what I gotta do.
All shadows may do is mute colours, soften the volume of the daytime orchestra. Shadows are a guest, dependant upon the shining sun, a passing memento to become nothing at all under the starlit night. So though shadows come as if part of a natural clock, in truth they tell more of golden rays than darkness.
Upon the sand is a boat, so still upon golden waves. She is every colour Leon loves so much, every hue of pastel that brings the seafront to mind. Her paint is flaked, showing the colours of yesteryear, revealing them so that they may dance in the sunlight once more. He lets his fingers mover over her surface, taking in each imperfection, all of which add to her beauty.
The grass is a sea with white-dew-foam upon crests that rise so freely toward the sunlight. She is every green from gold-infused to deepest summer foliage. Perhaps in a few weeks, when the sun is warmer once more and the tops are neatly trimmed, she will be as a quiet as harbour waters, flat and calm, but for now she is joyous waves, natural and wild.
The leaf reminds me of a church window, of the glass that glows so brightly on sunlit days. I trace the veins with one finger, following nature's architecture from stem to tip. I lift it to the light and let my eyes travel over it. So broad to catch the light, so thin to let the air flow in and out, and just like the church - built a "brick" at a time into a beautiful part of life.
My boat is called "Oasis," for that is what she is. Though this salt water breathes life for my brothers below; I cannot drink a drop. And so, upon the seas she keeps me alive, breathing air, seeing sun. I feel her rock beneath bare feet, her keel upon the boundary of our world and theirs. For now, there is nought to do but await the horizon, take note of the terrain that comes, chart a new course if need be.
They call it theft, I say it's ethical redistribution. I'm not going in noone's house, not beating on old ladies or pulling knives - I just do my thing, flow along, enjoy the day and stuff finds me. It's weird like that. But those ones in the suits they don't see it from where we are, that all these stores are their oasis, their bounty, but for us it's a mirage in the desert, cruel. We can see all that stuff we need, our kids too, but it might as well not be there at all. How would them suit people like to wake up and see only cheap unhealthy shit on the shelves and no decent clothes, cos that's our life. When does stealing become something else; I'd say when it's filling a real need. That's all I do, peaceful facilitating of providing for urgent needs. It's the fifth emergency service.
Of you enemies, of those you have cast themselves as adversaries, steadfast in their coldness, contempt and hate - pray for them with the deepest of love. Pray that they find what inner peace is, for with inner peace there is no hate. Pray that they come to know the depths of their humanity, for then contempt melts as snow under a warm sun. Pray that bathed in that sunlight their hearts beat anew and they feel as children once more. We are not born to judge but to love, to live that love in our deeds and creeds, to be healers with our natural talents, with the simplicity of a smile, a hug. Grace is a softness of spirit, a gentle nature, an openness of the soul and humility. Be grace, be forgiveness, be the warmth in the cold. And in this way of being your mind will be free, your soul light and your heart strong.