Shock. Why for, it’s just another day in its fade out here in the desert, as the shadows stretch for miles, the long woven wire cables to a bare broken clothesline. So I walk the few hundred feet to the top of the first in wave upon wave of sand-hills, and there I sit. Waiting for the last shimmer to pass, with sand in my boots, narrow leaves on a new wind scatter to return. A dry flat piece of bark in my hands, the bark of a tree three thousand mile from this quiet, alive place. Upon the bark, lines of words curved in a tight spiral, a letter from an old friend, with one message, one story, a song, if I read from the outside into the centre. Then another, vast, and different one when I read from the core to the outer last few words. Two faces in conversation, sharing their challengers, their mysteries between one another. So too, while the light dwindles blue, I turn over the bark, and there burnt into the reverse face these few words. “In what place, what ever sea you find yourself, however it comes to be, there is still more of the story to write, more of the story to share. Family, friends, and conversations with strangers.” And so as the night winds whisper low, and the dim of day’s final fall, between the dark spaces above, the many stories unfold.
A brief interlude from Summer’s rise, the above evolves its way from A Kellie Elmore, “Free Write Friday”
“We don’t read and write poetry because it’s cute. We read and write poetry because we are members of the human race. And the human race is filled with passion. And medicine, law, business, engineering, these are noble pursuits and necessary to sustain life. But poetry, beauty, romance, love, these are what we stay alive for. To quote from Whitman, “O me! O life!… of the questions of these recurring; of the endless trains of the faithless… of cities filled with the foolish; what good amid these, O me, O life?” Answer. That you are here – that life exists, and identity; that the powerful play goes on and you may contribute a verse. That the powerful play *goes on* and you may contribute a verse. What will your verse be?” — John Keating (Robin Williams) Dead Poets Society