Tweet
I write sometimes when I can't not write...
Obervations of a winter morning
Sleep is elusive, like a dream lover who skips just out of grasp each time I reach for her. The soothing balm of Morpheus is kept at bay by the swirling maelstrom in my head. With a sigh I sit up, scratch the night's growth of stubble.
Time to haul out my soul and take a good look. I fix a cup of the blackest paint remover, strong enough to float a roll of dimes. I know where to go, and I load Shadow into my van and drive to the ocean.
Escorted by a full moon who's found a break in the cloud cover, I drive onto the sand. The beach is deserted for miles in each direction. I sit and sip the caustic brew. It banishes the last of the cobwebs and sits me up a little straighter.
Not thinking, just being, I watch the ferry taking it's load of early commuters from Galveston to Bolivar. A small floating island of pelicans moves past on the strong north wind. A pod of porpoises rounds the point, heading out into the gulf. I look to the south and wonder what the people in Belize are doing right now.
In a lightening sky, the clouds have arrayed themselves in barren winter furrows; sterile ranks marching away to the east in their rush to greet the dawn. Gulls wheel and swoop, their calls like the cries which escape unbidden from love-anguished lips.
The waxing light turns the water from black to blue, then copper, and finally, molten steel. The sun kisses the bottoms of the clouds with fiery lips. Cormorants and ducks pass within feet of each other without so much as a nod of acknowledgement. They apparently have important avian business elsewhere and don't have time to stop and chat.
I exit my van and let Shadow run the beach. As I walk along the water's edge my feet make slight impressions on the sand, packed tightly from the recent rains. I pull my parka tighter. The screaming north wind has razors for teeth today. To the south, the breakers are blown almost flat. Whisps of spray stolen from their crests are thrown back toward the gulf by the incoming cold front.
Shadow runs, leaps, cavorts like a binking rabbit, his tongue lolling and ears floating beside his head on the stiff norther. He hurries to each pole and piece of flotsam, claiming it as his own, then thunders past at full gallop to make sure he hasn't missed anything behind us.
We pass a car which contains a necking couple. They are oblivious to us and the rest of the world.
When I stop, I've walked a couple miles and the van is a small white hump on the sand to the west. I turn to head back, see Shadow chase a flock of shorebirds who reluctantly take to the cold air. A small laugh escapes from somewhere deep inside as I watch my dog. My hand touches my face, which has somehow become wet. Like it's done for the sky, the sun has ejected the darkness inside me and illuminated my soul. Wiping away the tears, I realize that I've acheived that for which I came.
Catharsis...
Mark
Obervations of a winter morning
Sleep is elusive, like a dream lover who skips just out of grasp each time I reach for her. The soothing balm of Morpheus is kept at bay by the swirling maelstrom in my head. With a sigh I sit up, scratch the night's growth of stubble.
Time to haul out my soul and take a good look. I fix a cup of the blackest paint remover, strong enough to float a roll of dimes. I know where to go, and I load Shadow into my van and drive to the ocean.
Escorted by a full moon who's found a break in the cloud cover, I drive onto the sand. The beach is deserted for miles in each direction. I sit and sip the caustic brew. It banishes the last of the cobwebs and sits me up a little straighter.
Not thinking, just being, I watch the ferry taking it's load of early commuters from Galveston to Bolivar. A small floating island of pelicans moves past on the strong north wind. A pod of porpoises rounds the point, heading out into the gulf. I look to the south and wonder what the people in Belize are doing right now.
In a lightening sky, the clouds have arrayed themselves in barren winter furrows; sterile ranks marching away to the east in their rush to greet the dawn. Gulls wheel and swoop, their calls like the cries which escape unbidden from love-anguished lips.
The waxing light turns the water from black to blue, then copper, and finally, molten steel. The sun kisses the bottoms of the clouds with fiery lips. Cormorants and ducks pass within feet of each other without so much as a nod of acknowledgement. They apparently have important avian business elsewhere and don't have time to stop and chat.
I exit my van and let Shadow run the beach. As I walk along the water's edge my feet make slight impressions on the sand, packed tightly from the recent rains. I pull my parka tighter. The screaming north wind has razors for teeth today. To the south, the breakers are blown almost flat. Whisps of spray stolen from their crests are thrown back toward the gulf by the incoming cold front.
Shadow runs, leaps, cavorts like a binking rabbit, his tongue lolling and ears floating beside his head on the stiff norther. He hurries to each pole and piece of flotsam, claiming it as his own, then thunders past at full gallop to make sure he hasn't missed anything behind us.
We pass a car which contains a necking couple. They are oblivious to us and the rest of the world.
When I stop, I've walked a couple miles and the van is a small white hump on the sand to the west. I turn to head back, see Shadow chase a flock of shorebirds who reluctantly take to the cold air. A small laugh escapes from somewhere deep inside as I watch my dog. My hand touches my face, which has somehow become wet. Like it's done for the sky, the sun has ejected the darkness inside me and illuminated my soul. Wiping away the tears, I realize that I've acheived that for which I came.
Catharsis...
Mark
Comment