My Special Place

 

There is a place that I go where life is quiet and Nature is calm.  My thoughts are not cluttered with chores yet to be done or regrets of things past.  There is a noticeable absence of politics and advertising.  The clock doesn’t keep reminding me that, even though I am here, time has not stopped or even slowed.  But that’s okay. 

Everything I write appears organized and mentally cohesive.  Misspelled words magically arrange themselves into the correct order, and punctuation quietly does its job without a fuss.   Everything that scampers or flies past my window slows down just long enough to say, “Excuse me, sorry for the interruption.” and then keeps going. 

Stray tunes might occasionally slip into my thoughts but never do they get stuck and just keep repeating.  Just as quickly as they arrive, they are gone.  For whatever reason I see my desk clutter as artwork.  Each item is making a statement with its light and shadow and its potential function presently lying breathless.  No longer are they distractions but now simply friends who accompany me on this journey.

This wooden sailing vessel never requires varnish or mending.  The creaks and groans are simply for effect.  Forever upright, it slices through the waves undaunted, knowing its course and never questioning the stars.  The wind collected behind the sails are made of untold stories. I need only glance up to select the next in line.

It's where I go when left to write.

zc

 

 

 ZC