Previously on the rewound world: noble Deirdre, overclocked Ada, angel-phobic Paulo, and the irrelevant John P and I were crossing the Nullarbor plain seeking a bright earthstar (not the fungus), with little action and a lot of reminiscing. The first episode is here.
We walked beside the sunset to where
our newer dreams were waiting,
and Ada shared a little deprecated data.
I remember yesterday, when minds and houses
both had walls, when something was achieved
by doing something else, she reflected,
before our faded world was defined
by archaeologists seeking to confuse
their pasts with mine.
Before anyone could ignore her,
sundry birds of sand rose into the sky
to meet the higher wind, and the falling sun
made birds of its own: anaemic lemon yellow
with their ray tails streaming linearly behind them.
You see? Do you see
what I cannot fathom?
John Pessoa, an extra from another story,
adverbed apprehensively, because the birds
of sun and sand, the flocks caught in the wind shears,
were well beyond all sense and reason.
But a moment later, he understood,
because he himself had decayed to birds,
and all were gone except for tiny fluffy feathers,
the kind that cling in electrostatic weather.
Tweet twoot, dear John, hail and farewell.
At the true first next early sunrise,
I saw three bedroom windowpanes of air
(I, the writer) in a roaring weft of wind,
and I knew I had to stop.
Precipitation of my own existence
could only lead to decohesion.
Ada is also a computer language.
People rarely disintegrate into birds, and it has never happened to me as far as I know. However I have spotted two Buff-banded Rails (origin unknown) in my backyard. They are birds that like weeds and long grass, so I don’t plan to do any mowing. Note: this is not an excuse for laziness, at least not a good one.