Knees

In the morning, when the routine of exercise and ablution had been conquered, the Eyes and Fingers appeared in the cool spaces of the cloisters where Sheba and the Blue knight were resting their refreshed bones.

I see that progress has been made in the body shop department, said Sheba.

Indeed, said the Eyes wriggling her fingers, I shall be pointing at things all day and I am thinking of taking up knitting, as I have been told that it is the highest form of finger work. That being said, I am now keen to continue with the wise tales, as it would be such a comfort to have some knees. I could bend down to look the grand children in the eye and also kneel down upon a suitable cushion when weeding the flowerbeds.

Before I begin, said the BK, May I enquire exactly how many tales might be required to bring about an entire corporeal restatement?

I am thinking in the region of seventy-four, said the Eyes, As each toe of the feet must be reinstated separately to maintain balance.

The BK and Sheba shared an alarming look, wondering, in perfect unison, just how they might extricate themselves from this situation, without causing offense, so that they might continue to follow the Thread of their narrative, to which they had sworn fealty.

Could you speak up said the Eyes, The fountain is twinkling particularity noisily that morning.

And so the Blue Knight began, speaking, nonetheless in a gentle voice, in order to lull the Eyes into sleep mode and make good their escape.

This is what I think, and this is how I know. I’ve tested all its systems and written here below, just how to start its engine, just how to trim its sails. See where to set the levers, down on the settings page. The basic rules are all writ down, you look until you see, you sitting drinking coffee, sitting opposite to me.

This is where it was, but now it’s gone away, away here on our own. Now we can all play, play our simple game and sing our simple song, a song to sing along, somewhere along the way, to where we all began. Don’t walk and please don’t run.

This is how it sounds, when we turn our head away, and this how it tastes, when we break our fast today. Before the rain began, we felt all warm and dry, our friends came with us too, until they went their way, and they were lost as well, researching on their own.

This is how it seems, unravelling at the seams, building up a wall until it makes us small. The world is finely wrought, in all its little ways, in all its crumbly bits and massive disarray. We grab onto the lines and fly it like a kite, a kite that only flies but when the wind is right. We water all the roots and watch as the fruits grow, grow sweeter than the seed and brighter than the snow.

These are the parts that go, that go and make us whole, the parts that fall apart and scatter on the ground, when all is broken down, we gather up the parts, we smooth along the cracks and fill the tiny voids, that may join us up again, let’s hope it doesn’t rain or shake us up too much.

Let’s hold up all the parts, the top and the insides, the bits that make us work, the bits that seem to slide. Let’s hold up to the light, the light that comes each day, we may not know quite how, it helps us on our way, our way along the way, although I love the dark, its beautiful.

The light is very well, but you cannot see the spark, the spark of all that life, its coming out the seams, its spilling from my mouth, its shining out its beams, its lighting up the dark, the dark where we began, began to be ourselves, we just got up and ran, we ran the other way, away from all the noise, to find the smallest light, its hidden in the dark.

And this is how it ends, this never really ends, it ends as it began, we walked and then we ran. We couldn’t see the light, at first it was so faint, there sailing through the mist, the mists before our eyes, that hid the light of day, that covered up the stars, which still held in their course, that hid all of our friends, they’re all around of course.

 That muddled our designs and made us wonder why, and why we couldn’t see, the way to solve the why. The why that we all hold, the why that leads the dance, we count its numbers down and colour in its space, we photograph its face, but the focus isn’t clear.  Clear enough to see or clear enough to know, that this is how it works and how it all began, that this is its success and this it’s also ran,

So, this is how we know, know how to live just so, just so that we don’t all fail or bury down below, the things that we hold dear, getting frozen crystal clear, deep in the snowy drifts.

As the BK spoke these last, the Eyes closed and a soft breathing might be heard, the fingers were at rest, crossing each other in a neat and relaxing fashion.

The BK signalled to Sheba and they rose quietly from the cushioned area. Walking softly, they swiftly made their way to the great palace gates.

How shall we? whispered Sheba, They are locked with a key.

I shall summon the Thread to our aid, said the BK, and straight away the Thread fell over the wall in front. They climbed cautiously and in good time came once more outside where Juno the racing camel was awaiting orders.

Follow that thread, said Sheba to Juno, pointing to the Thread that snaked its way across. She and the BK jumped upon Juno’s strong back. Leave nothing unturned and fly like the tempest, called the BK.

They disappeared into the wastes where points of reference were at a premium.