Roberto Blizzard and Adjutya
In December, tea-scented drifts of hot air would hint of new moon flowers unfolding, the thought of which would carry me into the comforting arms of deep sleep; then as midnight approached, and when the large petaled corollas of these haunting flowers were fully extended, I would be further drawn by their soporific scent into my curiously familiar dreams. The Luanshya night pollinated these plate-sized trumpet flowers with moths and bats. By morning these fragile beauties were limp afterthoughts of her post-midnight magic. Whereupon she would gently press the residues of their lily and orange perfume into her pre-dawn wrists in a mood of quiet acquiescence and spent nights. Her night reveries were forced to bow down before the heated arrogance of yet another day to come.
Allan Taylor, author Luanshya musings
A timeless story that hovers between how it should have, would have, and could have been. An imponderable story:
How it ended, if it at all did, is of no importance in how everyone saw it in the ‘Now’ moment of their timeless sight. It was a Soul in full flight, for everyone to observe as the all-encompassing testimony of their own Soul purpose.
Allan Taylor. author Luanshya musings
Eugene Makai – a true son of Africa
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