Enga mellom fjella: where from across the meadow, poems sing from mountains and molehills. |
For
9. You have to look through the rain to see the oncoming bus, dump truck, and motorcycle. Solace.Bring I was looking the other way. Smack. The slash of rain streaked the window panes west to east ... at a 45 degree angle. It hailed in the mountains. Kayakers in the river just kept riding the curl of Brennan's Wave, oblivious to anything wet. I closed my window when the cold breath tried to invade my personal space. But I wasn't prepared for the hammering in the hallway. Life in an old hotel without ghosts is normally boring ... more like a snooze. It was just my new neighbor putting up sound insulation... (ironic?) But life wasn't always so placid. Oh, it looked placid... I was blinded to reality as a child. Didn't know how fortunate I was. Didn't know how deprived I was. Never knew that I wasn't unique and that I could be me and still valued. Never had a friend I could confide in until I was 26. Was blind-sided 24 years later when my best friend severed my lifeline. Didn't see it coming. I didn't even know I was refused a college scholarship until almost 50 years later when my mother let that slip. Life could've been different? It only seems that way in the light of day. I was raised in the dark where secrets were never spoken. So I bumbled through my 20s and 30s and 40s ... and ... I didn't see my crash and burn. I just grabbed for something within my reach, forgetting I was falling through thin air. I needed support. But it probably wouldn't have mattered much. I can be fairly hard-headed and far-sighted when I should be paying attention to details in front of me. So I was looking the wrong way. Smack. Haven't been right in the head since. 56,959 |