Crochet-etry: A Lore of the Lookbook Entry (continued from last week)

Vol. 4
An accumulation of time and space found me dreaming one night in Tunisia
dreaming I was staring at myself through a camera lens mottled with dust motes
as I hurtled through space driving a white Mustang filled with children
while wearing the Horizon Jumper
and being chased by four roaring, high powered, burgundy Broncos
"There will be five horses today but only one white horse. This is the horse we should ride. I don't know why."
My traveling companion shrugged this off the following morning - largely indifferent to my peculiar declarations, as we awaited van transportation to our horse and camel trek through the hills of Hammamet.
Upon arrival we stared in dismay
at the anorexic single white horse with gray speckling its oily, febrile-looking hide,
doubtfully, at legs that seemed unsure of carrying its own weight.
"We can get on?"
We asked, gesturing inquisitively at the guide.
He nodded, "This horse have babies but is Arabian horse - she is ready."
"But I want to ride one of those horses," my friend waved at the four other gleaming, powerfully muscled, massive, Rock-of-Gibraltar-style Arabian stallions.
"The white one, remember?"
She gave me a rebellious glare, as this was her first horse ride, and I also felt it was a shame that it would not take place on one of the other magnificent stallions. However, she was distracted when they brought out the camel and capitulated.
"Fine, we'll ride the white one."
At a fork in the road, the two other women with us who were astride the stallions, went a separate direction and we looked at each other in relief.
The women - ensconced in jewels and clean and shiny as new pennies - had been regalling us with how many years they'd been riding, how many horses on their estates, how many competitions they'd placed in
...while the Tunisian hillside had been slipping by unnoticed.
Even the white stallion I was riding became more peaceful as the sounds of nature prevailed again, augmented occasionally by the clicks, 'tuh-sut's', and 'sis-ha's' as the horse guide whispered certain mystical messages in their shared language.
Upon our return, we waited at the fork in the road for the two women
and they came into view, with horses being led by their guide.
Noticing our puzzled looks at the wild disarray of their formerly meticulously coiffed hair, the fine coating of dust over their cheeks and arms, and the damp, slightly rumpled appearance of what was pristine clothing,
they grabbed their hearts and began babbling
"These horses", "I was fright!", "Very strong!"
My traveling companion and I fell silent
but before too long she glanced over at me and said
"You are a strange one."

~More From Lore of the Look book To Come~

#TravelTuesday #TravelJournals

Crochet-etry: An Entry From Lore of the Lookbook (continued from last week)

Vol. 3
Speckles of dust around the lion transformed him into a gold cloud
as I waved from the train until his image united with the earth.
The following afternoon I walked alongside the Indian Ocean
wearing the Earthbeat Halter
The waves had forbidden me to enter
with an invisible force field that pulled out of my mind the notion to go in that water
so I walked the Earth
eventually I laid prone in the sand while all the worry captured in my belly delighted in burrowing itself back down to its terrestrial origin.
And the waves settled down and the water,
no longer carrying out the arduous task of hurling waves,
began to sigh from relief.
My heart slowed to the sound of the Indian Ocean's breath as it met the shore.
In the haze of sunset my awareness sharpened
and my eyes connected with those of a man
standing beneath a tree umbrage a fair ways down the beach
Brown orbs trimmed in amber and a hint of periwinkle
Reluctantly, it seemed, he held up a hand and began to amble my way.
"You are fortunate not to have done this only yesterday - the beach was covered with green mamba snakes."
" Well where have they all gone today?"
"I killed them."
"Pardon? How would you have done that?"
His laughter was woven with kindness
"Ahhh, America, there was no 'would' - I did it.
I jumped on the head and the tail like this"
He disappeared from my line of sight and I looked up in the nick of time to see him suspended in the air above my head
"And I grabbed my knife,"
he mentioned casually on the way down
"And I did like this," landing on feather toes he swung his arm across the sand
I cringed and jumped at this nonchalant display, swift and lethal
"Do you work for the resort?"
"Yes, I am the guard for the bungalow you are staying in."
"Well if you're guarding me, who's guarding you? You're only one man."
"There are more but, no, I need no guard"
He sat down on a rock. "I have laid many animals to rest, it is the way of life here. The lion come and eat my sheep then there is the question, 'must I and my family suffer starvation or must the lion be hunted and killed."
"You've killed lions?"
"I am slight but I am a man, I am smarter than the lion"
"Now how would you do this?"
He did not speak for a long time as he stared at the ground.
He grabbed a handful of it.
"Do you know how sacred is your word? Do you see this?"
Grains of sand drifted out of his hand into the wind
"The sand is would, could, maybe, 'I think', sometimes"
He opened his hand to reveal the rock remaining,
"But this is your word."

~More To Come From Lore of the Lookbook~

For #ChooseDay : Truth or Illusion? 

Crochet-etry: A Page From Lore of the Lookbook

"You are protected..."

Vol. 2 (continued from last week)

A voice seemed to rumble

from the attic of the heavens

or

cellar of the earth

or from within

and like I'd received a shot of pure

undiluted power

waves of it undulated in the air around me.

The baboon and hyena disintegrated even as they drew nearer to me.

I fell down on the grass laughing as the lion

perplexed

circled around trying to find them.

Although I froze in my hilarity when I felt the earth vibrate with his leaps and bounds

then moments later the humid gamey aroma of his breath surrounding me 

the dry nubbiness of his tongue on my face 

the slickness of his sharp teeth grazing my scalp.

It was now his turn to laugh

and soon we laughed together 

with a spirit as relentless in gaiety as the hyena's as I hung myself from his belly with arms strong as the baboon's

and we raced across the countryside alongside the train tracks...
~More to come from Lore of the Lookbook~
#TravelTuesdays

Crochet-etry: An Excerpt From Lore of the Lookbook

"I once fell off the train from Nairobi to Mombasa...."
Vol. 1
Dinner Was Served At Eight
passengers were expected to be prompt
and fiercely elegant in attire.
Five courses
and at least as many spirits later
diners mingled over cordials at the slender glimmering bar in the Victorian era dining car.
I had worn the Vinyl Sheath
for the very first time
and found myself engaged in a great many conversations
with men of "unaccompanied status".
One of such
and I
wandered to the platform outside the last car
to marvel at the unfolding countryside eddying behind the back of the slowly moving train. Eventually we began, subliminally, to dance
him steadily waltzing forward as I shimmied backward or to
the side.
Although the cast iron guard rail dug a groove into my back, I took a fatal step backward and felt myself gliding,
and then sprawled
across the countryside
at dusk.

A stunned disbelief gripped me as I came to and saw the train slip
lazily around a bend in the horizon
then the vacant depthless stare of a baboon

the certain confident glint of a lion's

the mirthful glitter of a hyena's.

~More To Come From Lore Of The Lookbook~