An Old Ent, Pondering – Photo: L. Weikel
My Ears Strain
I’m sitting here in my living room all by myself. Oddly, I’m truly alone. Spartacus is upstairs in bed with Karl, which is not all that anomalous on its own. No, what’s wigging me out just a bit is the absence of all three of our cats. I’ve no idea where any of them are. The night is quiet. In spite of the front door being flung wide open, my ears strain to hear a sound – any sound.
The stillness of this evening is so complete that even the massive, dying, pine trees across the road are failing to utter even a sigh. I squint my closed eyes. Surely a tree frog or a cricket will give a high sign of life.
Most of me revels in the blanket of silence. A smaller part, though, noticing the lack of any sound, wonders what life would be like in a cataclysm. What if everything changed over night?
Sheltered Life
At times like these I’m confronted with the shocking truth of just how sheltered a life I lead. I cannot imagine the circumstances of those living in so many regions of the world – and so many places within our own nation. If I’m honest with myself, I turn away from truly permitting myself to imagine what it’s like to have my apartment building bombed.
I turn away from even the simple act of contemplating what it must be like to have my home imploded by a tornado or devoured by a wildfire.
My thoughts, when I permit them to even skirt around those circumstances, always seem to gravitate to the irreplaceable items. Of course, that doesn’t even count the possibility of losing a loved one (human or other sentient being). I guess it all comes down to our impermanence.
The ‘irreplaceable’ items – meaning the photographs and journals, primarily – provide context to our every day lived experiences. They also provide a window into our history. Without context, we’re free agents. Free to make things up as we go along.
But do we?
I don’t know.
(T-188)