justwrite 26 june

when the sun comes up it might be time to cup my hands and wait for the honey to fall for the dew to call home all its juicy melonfaced ideas and bite deeply into something colorful when all the letters written are spelling places never been and names never tasted let’s take another look at the map let’s cap the trades and fade into something curried unhurried and slowcooked it’s a cook book of geographical intentions and history lessons intersplaced with literary meanderings and artistic scavengings only for the living only for the breathing moving thinking dancing let us lift our hands and faces and take a look at what’s above it is only what we see it is only wheat we grow and when we bake the bread we take the cake we eat mistakes and give them as gifts and when the perfect loaf is made we rest in the shade and consider objections we remember the sand paintings the imperfect stitches of traditional quilts that nothing is perfect and nothing will last and even this craft of wrinkling my fingers of lingering over blank space and seeking to fill it is transitory I am telling you a story and you are not listening forever even as I am speaking you are seeking an end to this tale and I am not even at the middle you are twiddling your thumbs and I have barely come to the main character’s overall desire the overarching fire that drives through the rest of the plot all you’ve got so far is character development and a bit of scenery some of the meanery of conflict the challenge thrown in but there is no reason to swim along with this song if you haven’t caught what it is she wants and will haunt the rest of her pages days stages ways roads and all the epilogues in the world won’t reinvite you back to this point let me tell you now let’s take a break and have tea and at the next chapter’s beginning you can decide again if you’d like to listen I will make faces and also voices and if you choose to follow the clouds instead that’s okay they can say whatever you like and so can you and I will make my bed and make up my mind and make the most and make toast and mountains out of molehills without make-up without making broken deals I am stealing all the idioms and I am flushing them to the clouds sending them to rain down on the ocean instead of my ears so all will be clear and the fishes will have the entertainment they’ve been wishing for like the sudden English singing of an unexpected quartet giggling along the rainy sidewalk outside the window