Adventure beckons. Right there, just outside the door. The long drive in the dark. The chill of fall reminding us that the season is about to change. Eyes reflect in the darkness. Establishing the hierarchy of survival, predators and prey jockey for position. The odds and ends of one life lock together in a last-minute attempt at harmony, a last-minute attempt at making sense of things before the door closes and the deadbolt rams home. The classic push and pull. The fear of leaving what we love to face off with the unknown. “Broken thoughts beneath the stains of time,” Johnny reminds us. “You are something else. I am still right here. What have I become, my sweetest friends? Everyone I know goes away in the end.”
“If I could start again, a million miles away.”
Looking down at the treadmill of now. Slipping by, faster and faster. Sweat drops forming and falling, blurred beyond recognition. The brain retreats into itself. The shell forms around us. The bubble required to get from A to B. Once again, for the countless time. Green metal and black cloth. Light tight boxes, cables and cards. Pulp and pens, layers and bits and bobs. Clear plastic, screens and mechanical things.
When the rain comes, it comes in horizontal intensity. The land, fragile in its aridness, can’t handle the deluge. Seams cut into the dry in an instant. The flash in the legendary flood. Even on level ground, the edges are cut, and the Earth falls away in surrender. The smell is incomparable. A thirst quenched, for now. He would have been out here too, as he always was. The one responsible for me. A pattern, a habit, or a need. Passed down from one to the other.
There can never be enough. Ever. At least that is what we tell ourselves. Push the button. Frame it up, capture. Such an interesting word, concept. The rollers push the object up and out. We stare and remember, even though the moment just passed. Glue, tape, adhere things to where something, most likely, will never find. This is the making sense. At least I think it is. That’s what I tell myself. And you can’t stop the smile. The inside joke. Now it’s time to close the device. Pack it, heft it, and head toward the outside.
Comments 2
Danielsan, So many things going through your head right now…Expressed beautifully.
“He would have been out here too, as he always was. The one responsible for me. A pattern, a habit, or a need. Passed down from one to the other.” A son remembering his father? Tribute tucked away in an outpouring of words and images. Hi Dan.