Cobwebs

19 Apr

Today I’m feeling rather aimless and drifty, so I’m gonna freewrite this one, see what’s going on, maybe I’ll clean out some cobwebs.

An open window with white curtains hanging down, slightly blowing out. They’re a little too long for the window, but nice and sheer. Outside the window is a bright green day with hummingbirds and trees with flowers on them, and the sun bright in a manner that makes the room seem dim. Wooden floors with parallel planks. This is a nice place.

A safe place–this place can hold all my messiness, it can absorb the splattered paints, the ricocheting thoughts, the little mental storms that pass through, the curtains will still sway, the hummingbirds will still hover around the trees, the wood will still be wood. I can make all the noise in the world and it won’t matter. Also this is a place where not everything has to make sense.

How the world wants everything to make sense–to go from point A to point B. For explanations to be very clear and orderly. For every I to be dotted and every t to be crossed. For some, life should be as orderly as a ledger.

However, I’m not that way. My thoughts zoom and ping–they careen from place to place like an untethered blimp. Cats and geese. Winter naps. Elvis Presley. Gold teeth. Jug ears. Just moving along, wandering, leaving a shadow at times, drifting half-cocked.

Messiness is good. From messes come all sorts of things as long as I don’t just stand there and wring my hands and go OOOH a mess!!!! Well I can do that but after, comes the sorting, the cutting out of pieces, the arranging, the cabinet with baby’s breath and an assortment of keys, and paper trees, and open tubs of mentholatum opened like incense to some stuffy nosed god. Orange rinds and turkeys made from hand prints and lemonade glasses.

A broken kazoo, peach leaves, a rusted railroad tie, a canful of gravel.

Yes, things can be messy, I must learn the dance, to have these things around, to know them, to let them find their own alphabet. To dance.

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