It isn’t writers block, but rather too much to write.
Direction is missing.
Focus is fuzzy.
Is this the time for fiction or the time to work out ones’ life and missteps?
Is this the time to rearrange ones thought to meet the future?
What time is it?
She can only doodle
all the gears in her head
are working too hard on everything and yet nothing.
It is a wasted piece of paper for her.
She writes anyway.
And doodles.
The toe of her boot touched the grey of the snowy bank. The grey where water runs under the ice. Slush oozed around her boot. Solid footing is still available under the slush.
The toe of her boot touched the gray of the snowy bank. The gray is where water runs under the ice. slush oozed around her boot. A solid footing is still available under the slush. She plants her foot most solidly. The muscles in her calve and running along her knees are adjusting to any hint of breaking through or sliding. As her leg calms down she moved her other foot forward onto the ice and away from the bank. Not far. Just farther from the bank. As her head looks up and she surveys the stream she feels her composure return. The trail of animal tracks that are crossing the stream here have given her confidence in her decision to cross the stream here. She is emboldened to start her life again on the other side. She is strengthened by the possibilities.
The steps she has taken so far along the bank of the stream are a mish mash of other tracks, both animal and human. The snow has gathered and frozen and melted and fallen again. The snow on the frozen stream is displaced by the wind. It is merely dunes of snow, small drifts surrounded by still silent sheets of frozen water. She doesn’t want to leave a trail. She wants to get out onto the ice, to trace her steps undetected around the drifts. She will be stepping carefully on the ice. If she is to get to the other side it is best to do it quietly and with no witnesses. She could hide out among the brush and off the trails for another week. In her mind thought, a much longer reprieve would be found on the other side.
She will eventually be found. She will be sought out; just like she is here. By then she hopes to have a real hut with four walls, a real hearth to warn the visitors, to make real stews and soups and medicines for their aching hearts. By the time she is found she will have stocked up on herbs and berries and found others to comfort her, to check in on her well being. She hopes to find her own health on the other side.
In these trees and undergrowth she feels so little solace as if all is too public, too much on display. Her arts, her medicine, her care in others requires moments – long journeys actually- of solace, meditation and privacy to reflect. To be on display has unnerved her. She feels again the surprise that she has been able to walk away from the one sided roofed diorama of a home they provided for her.
Sometimes during this short journey she has wondered if this is a trick. Is this a way of piquing interest again? She had heard the whispers in the crowd. “Oh, she does that fix for everyone. You think she’d find something new.” She knows there is nothing new in her people’s illnesses. It has always been so; before she began healing- it has just always been so. The illnesses are wounds and sores that require attention. The illnesses are from lack of touch.
She learned her herbs and berries. Mostly she has broken bread and laid on hands to fix her people’s woes. She has rested her hands on theirs. A world of health has opened for her people A touch to change their cares. A touch to show she cared. And they have flocked to her. constant care. In good weather hoards surrounding her lean-to awaiting the moment she looks to them.
These people now were no longer simply sick, they came craving spectacle. She didn’t do spectacle. She did healing. As she placed on more foot out on the ice she realized she had been set free by these people. She was not “talented”
enough to hold their interest. She knew the ones still sick would find her. And those looking for spectacle would let her go as not being worth pusuing. She would be allowed to heal again, both for herself and for her people.
She made her way gingerly across the ice. Skirting the snow drifts to leave the fewest footprints of her whereabouts. As she reaches the far side she reaches for a low flung branch to help her climb the bank. The additional clothing, heavy coats, packages of belongings she has strapped to herself and the layers of clothing are taking their toll are her ability to scamper. Her boots are too big to be graceful. She is warm and wanting for nothing but her shelter for the coming night. That will be hours away, plenty of time to fashion some broken twigs for a wind shield or better
The eyes that watch her cross the stream are sharp and intent on keeping this one in it’s sight. Could be easy pickings. Could be a warmer night for this set of eyes. The coat may fit, the boots would be welcome.
Here then is another stab at writing for 30 minutes a day for 30 days. Fiction only.
From January 25
And the day came when government warning were issued that for everyone’s own safety and the safety of others , all individuals must be buckled in unless they are actively moving about for a known and necessary reason. Seat belt for all various uses and places were on sale. a “universal” restrainer” now had a additional level of meaning. The universal restrainer sells millions each day as the global warning is strongly reinforced. In all it’s various forms the universal restrainer is merely an adjustable waist belt with two side clips and two heavy “d” clips. Most park benches, bus stops, and municipal objects (find a better worked) have already been fashioned with this “safety” device.
One one seems particularly alarmed by the situation. That the government saw fit to issue a warning actually seems a bit over due for most folks. The earth had been spinning noticeably faster for some time. It had become quite evident some months ago. The earth was speeding up on it’s rotation. Everything just goes by faster. The time spent in day and in night takes only around six hours now. That’s for a long day or a long night. Government has introduced bills to change the legal work time frames. No one is sure if the spin will get faster, and no bill appears to be making any progress in any legislature.
Many folks have found owning things that couldn’t be strapped down near impossible. Knick knacks in their requisite curio cabinets are quietly floating between the shelves. Once considered an oddity and exciting it is now the manner in keeping small objects to watch them swimming in the air.
Weight loss now is a silly unnecessary thing. Gaining immense weight to counteract the flinging lack of gravity is useless. Monstrous weight is still considered a vision of wealth and prosperity. But even the very rich are dismayed and some have counteracted the lack of weight and the lack of wanting to eat with an over whelming addition of belts and chains and harnessing gadgets. The finest money can buy.
Things just float. As the law of gravity loses it’s hold hazards creep up as a daily occurrence. Driving down a road one has to be careful the tires are gripping the road. It was considered better to run into floating flower container than to swerve into oncoming traffic. Container gardens are taboo. a debris now tends to bounce lightly off moving vehicles and float faster up and out of the way.
Landfills are being covered and reseeded or resodded as quickly as municipal bonds can fund the projects.
