Wednesday, October 5, 2016

Vespers

I write when I am running, but you couldn't really tell. I don't think of plots, or characters, themes, or query letters, or any of the aspects of writing that occupy my desk-mind.

The writing moves within me, just as the earth is moving, spinning—taking me into the sunset.

I stretch and consider. I have my litany, my agenda, my vespers.
I am a machine. I am desire, thought and memory. I am a ghost moving upon the waters when the Earth was young.  I am a woman. I am unrelenting. I submit to no one. I give. I am indefatigable and I know when to step lightly on the water or with force upon the stones.
The continuum of Space and Time is most subtly evident during the paradoxical dance of this moment—when the day bleeds into night because I know the safety of this place does not last much longer. I know when it ends and I run towards the sun and conveyance home. I search for danger. I look for my allies here. I stay aware and I am wholly in the present.

By now I know my pace without thinking about it.

The pathway comes to me. The sky and the water reflect one another but I shall not be dazzled by them. There will be another sunset. There will always be more running because that is what I do.
I am a machine. I am desire, thought and memory. I am a ghost moving upon the waters when the Earth was young. I am a woman.  I am unrelenting. I submit to no one. I give. I am indefatigable and I know when to step lightly on the water or with force upon the stones.

1 comment:

  1. I looked like the Creature from the Black Lagoon with my mouth the way it was earlier, so I informed my illustrator to do something about it.

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