What are Walls?

Fallen tree branches sanded and mounted provide a place to deposit my cat. His confusion is only momentary before he leaps down and returns to climbing my denim knees. Probably for the texture. His jump disturbed the calendars covered in blue and black inks and odd haiku syllables. April is almost over. Expired calendars live as art, opposite their inked counterparts, a still life of magic, myth, and ships on silk sheets. Pirates watch the fairies watch Venetian masks watch the kitten watch the ship watch the elephant watch the tapestry of red Celtic knot work that drapes over the bed. Teddy bear army guards my sleep from above. The faces of my loved ones wink from unlikely places, above the pillow, behind the monitor, below the Black Pearl. Aragorn’s ranger sword hangs on the tree my mother painted for me a decade ago.

The aura of stories untold runs thick like fake Halloween cobwebs. Each color and shape weave life. The room breathes on its own, chattering lightly from the quotes and books scattered among art and across shelves. Inviting you to come in, pick this up, ask a question, play. Explore, wonder, laugh, stay.


Inspired by today’s Daily Post Prompt.


4 thoughts on “What are Walls?

  1. This is lovely. I particularly like the word “ink” in all its uses in this post. I didn’t want to know the tree was painted, ’cause Aragorn’s sword hanging from a tree just sounded like such fun. I love how this sits between the lines of poetry and something else. Very nice.

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