17 October 2014

Untamed Beasty ... Redux

There stood beside me a grove of yellow mango shrubs, each the size of a small boy.

In each moment I stood motionless watching, the weight of it all pressed down on my head, shoulders, and feet (burrowing deeper into the dark wet soil). An increased burden of helplessness; an impotence in its purest state overwhelmed as I heard the waves upon the shore somewhere behind me.

It was as if I could intuit each moment (not seconds, not time, but the single idea or notion of an individual and distinct nano event) as they passed by -- or rather were lit then extinguished -- one by one, like wood matches you get from a steak house, a half-empty box, rattling around. Each of them as important as its predecessor or successor, lined up like lemmings about to migrate to some eternal judgment that they surely would not pass. Each one wanted, yet wasted.

These moments pressed in on my conscience; the box never emptying, just rattling with fresh moments to be shaken to see if there were any left, then pulled hard against the box, then dropped down to the earth like manna from Heaven with a fleeting trail of smoke and a last gasp upon impact.





Dumbwit Tellher said...

Wow, how I wish I could write like you. The very last paragraph brought the sum of your words to a crescendo; it created an image & a feeling that I could relate to; especially the hyper sensitive me!
Have a good weekend Jg. Thank you. :)

Jg. for FatScribe said...

hey, i'm right there with you, Deb, on the sensitive front! your writings are so much more detailed and create such a wonderful vicarious thrill for "thinkers" like myself (and others) when we see "doers" like you who write these great first-narratives. you're uber-super talented and i'm glad you visit me over here on this side of the atlantic even once a month! see ya soon at your Instagram locale, Ms. DT!

Barbara said...

As long as the box is never empty, we have opportunities. To repair, to forgive, to change, to love, to hope.
You always make me think with your beautiful writing.
Love that you visit me and my kitchen, J.G.
Oh for some sweater weather in S. Florida! Fall was ever my favorite season in the north country. I have Michigan in my blood forever. I never forget my beginnings.
Until next time, my friend. Take care of yourself. Be happy.

Jg. for FatScribe said...

Barbara ... never understand how sometimes I miss your comments. Have to say that your erudition makes me embarrassed how much of a try hard I am compared to you. Truly. There are some amazing people on the Web, and you are the fluffy goodness at the top of the cake, my friend!