perils with writing and whatnot
I guess I’m having difficulties finding the words to explain the things that happened to me after the stroke. There were years in there that had no happiness or laughter. Eventually, I’ll figure how to tell you, my friends.
Lately I’ve been in a frenzy of writing projects. I started off with one — it’s stalled but I haven’t given up on it. I started a second one — it stalled too. Now I have a third one going and so far, my momentum is up. I find myself waking up at the ungodly hour of 2pm something because I’m thinking about the story in my sleep. The only way to get back to sleep seems to be writing 500 to 1000 words on it.
So once again, I’m running a little late getting my Saturday post out. I might have to adjust my schedule a little. This is another writing prompt that I got from Today’s Author.
The man, only known as the Traveler, had pauses to rest his yearnings of his search. He thought he may find it in the greenery with all of its delicious aromas. Conversely, the stink of progress had intruded in on his moment of felicity.
He detected it as he inhaled the smell of the rosebush; the wind shifted and brought with it an entirely new smell. The highway buzzed just feet from where he stood among the flowers of the botanical garden. Yet, he couldn’t see it. The lush belt of forest hid it from view. Nonetheless, he could definitely smell the diesel from the trucks carrying their wares across the country.
There must be a place where one can feel the tranquility that is truly important, the Traveler thought. He felt certain that he must find it soon before it’s too late for him. The urgency held him within the sway to carry on with his pursuit.
The Traveler moved on, carrying his belongs slung over his shoulder in a knapsack. His leather shoes still wore without any hole but who knew how long that would last? He still had currency for beverage and toast in the morning and a decent meal in the early evening. His rations would suffice for all other times.
Still, the Traveler’s thoughts began to get muddled. He questioned himself as to which way to go. He pondered too long on where to pause and rest his longings.
The next day he traveled to the mountains on his quest to find that perfect tranquility. As he hiked through the forests and up each incline, he began to think that he might have finally found it. Up above timberline, he could look out for miles… that is until he paused and looked up. Above him was the vapor trails of the planes slowly polluting the air with smog.
This is better but it isn’t what I know I need, thought the Traveler. The time keep slipping away. His suede coat was getting threadbare in places. Soon all he’d have it his thin shirt. He felt so tired and worn. His hopes were quickly evaporating.
Later that same day he saw a small girl riding her bike on the lane that bordered a small park. He doubted seriously that she would know where it is but what did he have to lose by asking her? He said good afternoon to her. She replied with a hello. When he finally got the gumption to ask her, she looked up at him with a quizzical look on her face.
Then she said, “Tranquility isn’t a place, sir. It’s a state of being.”
Text+Sound by Wayne Mason
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