Today is the day Susan arrives from Montana; it’s been five years since oufr last gathering. Jamie makes her way into town on Wednesday; we’ve never met. I couldn’t do this without Susan, an event so large that it can’t sit alone in the hands of a single brother.
Susan and I were the challenge seekers, the daredevils, the answer survivors in a daily search for reasons beyond a solid purpose. I love my stepfather Joe with all my heart but there comes a time when what’s been looked upon as being invisible is given outlines that resemble shape.
The harder you push it aside the darker the image becomes eventually gaining enough strength to stretch shadows.
I don’t know what to expect in the hours yet unborn. I haven’t a clue what paint will be used to fill the valley floor with flowers and tree roots that somehow will connect to other families and is this really where I want to be taking this? Do I truly want to know more about Kenneth the true father?
I’d rather find peace in knowing that it truly doesn’t matter. He is gone, his history has been bent so many times the idea of believing any story is a newly discovered river of fantasy. So here we go…not a mask to carry or to hold in place so that it might hide the identity of what I was supposed to become because it really doesn’t matter. I’m tired of chasing rainbows.
It took over half my life to reach this week and how dare I allow fear to wreak havoc on the destination of a plan that time put into motion years ago. I’m only a player, a piece of a loosely knit puzzle set free to roam through the tip of a poets writing instrument.
I’m not out to write, paint, sing, holler or pour into a cup the emptiness each of us has felt; the strings of this musical instrument have lived and will continue to live in a way that sharpens the presence of a more suitable harmony. Let it fly with the leaves that have fallen from the trees and blow across the land building places of warmth for invisible frogs and soon to be shadows.
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