Channeling His Tale

 

 

I struggle to find the words, lost between time, tears and my fingertips, they want so badly to come out and see the light of even this gloomy day. Each letter of each word feels frozen like an ice cycle hanging before my watery eyes, yet they remain untouchable until the spring thaw. I try to seek out some sort of pattern, hoping to make a sentence, which hopefully could turn into a paragraph, but I fail to connect those dots. Instead, as my mind races, I have these stray thoughts appear like soft smoke on a warm evening, forming circles of words just before drifting into that night air, each seemingly calling out "ME" "ME" as if fighting for my attention….as I record these to paper I see the story of a man standing alone, perhaps upon a dock or pier, staring out into the raging sea, he seems to be calling out as he cups his hands to his weathered face, the waves crashing again and again at his feet, each one pulling him towards the sea below. And then he is gone. The words stop and the visons from them disappear. I franticly fumble to find them praying he is still there, that he has not tumbled into the vast wasteland of my writer’s block.  

But it is not to be. The sounds of this old house interrupts and dogs wanting attention take my mind away from what was so vivid seconds ago, I reach down and scratch my pups head and then his brothers, dinner is the word that now fills this space and I am the only one with opposable thumbs so I must go…..but in my mind, the story that man is waiting to tell me is unforgettably waiting for me.