STATEMENT:Fog Memory

The light wanders among the victories of colors and nature and, other times, among the defeats of the shadows of black and white.

Days with mornings flooded by fog, the pixie of creation searches for the ephemeral of existence in the shapes of the trees, the childless bushes.

It pierces the light with a razor of ice, defining the beginning again and again as it discovers the spring hanging, this time, a victim of suicide praising life on the branches of an almond tree.

Time becomes solitude on the stem of a home country blooming in green.

The white changes size on the altar of the image lost by fog.

The sweet loss of buzz of the morning walk mythicize any sound created by the cycle of life within the forest.

The dirt road, narrow, full of ochres and burnt umbers, becomes a path of heroes becomes hope for the other side which is hidden by the fog.

The memory touches the landscapes in the silence of the forest’s image that struggles, hides, frightens, becomes a point of reference, for the memories of fables that were made for the whole of nature a short story about a non-bad wolf who became a victimizer of a grim tale.

I shut my eyes, I hide my hands inside my clothes and I simply listen, smell, taste the fog, it makes me vanish, I become one with the nature that gives birth to images, that bleeds memories, that enlarges the ‘us’ and wipes out the ‘I’ by the presence of the spring on a red drop in the blossom of a oak tree as it hosts the first cyclamen of the forest.

Andonis D. Skiathas
Poet
March 19, 2020