“We have not the time to take our time” ~ Eugene Ionesco
Uncounted are the seconds as we savor summer nights when the crackle of a campfire doesn’t quite call to mind the comfort of a fireplace in frigid winters past though the trickle of a thinning stream heralds change and falling leaves; concealing unobserved, our footprints, left in haste.
Unexpected is the dreary dawn when confident collars upend against the bracing wind of subtle change, and the roar of silence reigns with the sting of frostbite as we fear our tomorrows have all run out and seek with fevered urgency the enchantment that once was. Has it been that long? In disbelief, we wonder.
Could this explain our actions when, with careful cause or reckless abandon, we sometimes rush headlong into, say, publication? Been there. Done that. And in a world that seems more impressed by quantity than quality, is it worth the obligatory ulcer? While some days are diamonds, some aren’t even gold-plated, so what keeps you going? What keeps that next sentence coming, that next paragraph flowing on a butter-side down day?
For me, a long walk, being in nature has the reassuring, as well as rejuvenating, effect of renewed purpose; as in everyone and everything. I suddenly forget who I was mad at, why I ever thought for one second of abandoning the lively characters protesting in my head and that for just a moment, I almost lost hope. But the value of having like-minded folks such as the Insecure Writer’s Support Group (where I’ve just imparted another rendition of my insecurities) around to share the adventure has proven immeasurable too. I recommend it to everybody! Besides, much as I love them; I can’t talk to trees all day – ha!
Have you ever felt that time is running out? What dissuades despair for you?
Wednesday word(s): Go Long!