40. Apogee

Haven’t written in the past few days. Yes, there’s work, but you’ve also been back, your voices full of fun filling the Skype network up to my ears and eyes, stellar bodies remaking the sea and the sky, re-curving the world, your laughter sounding like the exuberant chuckles of humanity’s ancient gods celebrating a panoply of paradises gravity can no longer capture. Smiles acting as air purifiers, the glow in your eyes as signals, shining points in the deep cosmic pond. Babbling, the cherubic faces of time travelers defying the dangers of paradoxes, compiling past and future existences into a single brilliant outcome. Predestination permanently written as means of triggering biographical divergence. My body particles allowing alternate selves to usurp power in a masterful performance, beyond expression, super glossy echoes solving all puzzles. Masses of joy converted into striking energy. Pulsing, sailing past iridescent planets, jolts of delight bouncing along an unchartered course. Your hands on the screen, flowerlike. Virtual shores reserved for the primordial imagery of your return, my proverbial source of illumination metamorphosed into inner fireworks. Petals in a revolution around my personal folklore, flashing with genealogical speed while, at a deep organic level, I savor the moment of a chain reaction, globular destructuring. A direct broadcast on the grandest of scale animating my grey cells way past ultimate frontiers. Your baby voices, a journey of exploration through the admirable new phases of matter. And by extension, space and time interchanging their nature under bright solar heat. Audible optical transitions, gleaming like chrome, blaring decibels of pure sonic dazzle, in the universal story of how oxygen and wilderness came to be.

Welcoming back my grand-children.

Loving you,
Laolao