There’s a picture I need to take. An impenetrable wall of forest, thicket, a thread of trail opening to the left. All is green – a narrow strip of brighter grass then packed dirt before the curb and blacktop beginning. The sky is blue. There are no clouds. Not that you could see any from under the trees, if they were there. Under the trees is all I think about but I don’t need to go there, not ever again. The picture I need to take is from the outside, looking in. It’s not a jungle, not in this part of the world, not here, but it always brings to mind those ringing words “The horror! The horror!” and penetration deep and deep past what I know now is multiflora rose strangling the edges and I don’t know if it’s to keep me in or keep me out. Deep and deeper I know the woods open up, there are clearings, one narrow packed dirt trail that twists and winds and meanders and oh the clearings where a little grass clings to spots of sunlight and I remember the patterns of leaves against the blue blue sky because looking up and looking past is to look out of now and not remember. I look at this picture I need to take – an impenetrable wall, a thread of trail and thorns that maybe keep me out or keep the me that was – in – the greenness color of sickness spreading deep and deep into my past and into the heart of darkness.
Once a long time ago someone told me that this kind of stream-of-consciousness writing is called a drabble. No idea if that’s true but I find myself writing them from time to time. I normally wouldn’t share this kind of thing with anyone – seems too juvenile, somehow – but this blog is supposed to be about growing my creativity and I guess this counts as creativity, so here it goes…on the record!