Hello and happy winter!
My apologies for my absence these past few months. Put plainly, I was busy with projects. I had also stumbled upon a very odd and unfamiliar point in my life. And it was that which drove me to write something such as this. Originally it was for a writing competition, but my schedule misled me and it was never entered. And so it remained in my possession for many months, unedited and unloved. Though I sat long in front of my computer this week, quite unsure at its meaning, I felt it only fair to share its truest version: as untouched as possible.
I am hopeful that the work on my book will come to a close this year, as early mornings spent rewriting material can wear the mind thin. But I’ve found that happiness comes in unusual ways, and I can’t imagine a life any better than the one I have now.
Wishing you all a wonderful end to 2015 and an even better start to the next!
“A bad thing has happened here,” Samuel sighed.
Oh, he who once was sightless, unencumbered by this land I knew. Now he spoke with candor; small puffs of white air made it so. And what truth it was, cajoling and soothing altogether, so much so that I felt the need to reach out for the lapel of his jacket.
“That it has,” I said, breathing timidly, my fingers moving every which way but to the creases below his collar.
Indeed, it was the residue of some tragedy long ago; a tragedy that soaked moisture from the soil and rusted the plow. The goats and sheep lived but only a month or so before contracting odd illnesses. Clouds of thick dust settled over the pastures and choked the birds. What was to be green was brown, and large swarms of beetles came and picked about the rotten parts.
In the beginning, I believed Samuel and I might still find a way to thrive. A new fence here. A tiny garden there. I thought it best to live on in ignorance, and see small tragedies as that they were: small. But such things came to pass that what came from the land died by the land. The fences turned inward and the gardens gave way, and it became clear that Samuel did not have in him the same fight as I.
I paused to look out into the nothingness, remembering those unhappy times. Stable doors left ajar knocked hard against their latches. Little bits of paint fell from the wood and clung to the poplars nearby. Down into the valley my mind wandered, where I could see the spaces left untouched by the sun. And down even deeper into the fields, where I might feel the elbows of ghosts as they brushed by. Yet so diffident were we that neither one dared to drive them from our machines, but only settled to watch them closely from over our shoulders. For be it known this was their home, and we could all watch the earth sink before us.
As the wind picked up, I could hear the hollow place inside me whistle. I pulled my hands into the sleeves of my sweater and watched Samuel turn away from me. For the moments we stood so still, we were now separate. Where once I was concerted and precise, I was now fumbling and tender. Oh, how extraordinary it was to be so afraid.
“I think,” said I, “that I should live this way forever.”
And live on, I would. And forever, I might, in this hub of endless endings. This vacuum of long and angry emptiness. For the last shreds of red raged across the sky, and dusk came strangely about. No stone unturned. No night unknown. And though it was the stuff of evil, I was the sum of all things.
Finally could I close my eyes and hold so fast to myself, and watch small bits of us as they went flying out into the universe. And could be, for just the briefest of moments, like stars.