Driving to drop off some movies, just now, with no other cars the entire trip along black river road and back, i floated through wisps of fog framed between highbeam green leaves and wet branches to the consoling sweet sadness of brian eno.
Magic happens so easily when you're in the frame of mind to receive it. As i left the driveway, i spotted a red fox and three deer. On the way back, the fox watched from a safe distance as I got out of the car to get the mail. She seemed more curious than frightened.
There's a world outside our windows. There are lives going on around me, and given the thickness of my sorrow after my mother's death, I mostly miss it. Then comes a moment like tonight, a gift of life in a ten minute trip to the local Blockbuster.
Writing about it makes it real. I can tell someone else about my guilt about not writing, and they'll surely tell me "It'll come" or "Does no good to be guilty about it." See, the thing is, they're not the ones with the history with it. Words are a duty. Allowing life to slip past unrecorded is negligence of a very personal nature.
There's a commitment that happens, that happened to me long ago. Much like the commitment you make to a child, it's always there. It never leaves.
Posted by timothy at July 18, 2003 11:05 PM | TrackBack