I tip my glass to you this evening, not that it has anything but tea in it. I think something wicked wafts through the air. Damn air... Helps us breathe but can infect the lungs with toxins too. Pick a side damned air. This isnt about air... Oh no, this is about the wicked feeling in the air. How can a person sit and just think? Oh come now, try it... Sit and think... Think about the good, the bad, and everything else in between. Seriously, I am tired... My thoughts ripping at the seams, not like my clothing for those stitches are tightly stitched. Though it seems sometimes that... Well, almost as if I have lost all ability to just sit and think like normal. Oh please, grief is not necessary this is not a sob story its more like a comparison of a huge stick of wood floating in the water heading down stream for the waterfall. No, thats what this is about. A stick of wood in a stream heading for some falling water. Oh of course, think of it... Compare that wood to life. Sometimes it just so happens that you feel like a stick of wood that has fallen from a tree. That tree started out small, like you, it grew up slowly, like you, and branched out and made a sustaining life for itself... Just. Like. You. Coincidence? I think not, this is anything but that... Dont forget, that tree has its problems to... Like you. It has to fear fire, animals, being chopped down... death. The tree has to fear death. Oh of course no one would think of it that way but think about this... That tree cannot fight back or run... Its rooted... Tip to tip. Back to the branch of wood floating... It spent all of its life attached to a tree and just like that..... It fell off. Nothing to catch it, no one to tell it that falling would be the hardest thing it ever did, or could ever experience. No, that piece of wood had no clue what it was getting into, did it? It thought that all it learned, all it experienced would save it from falling so hard and making a splash impact into a stream that just forces it down. Though that wood is headed straight for a waterfall... About to fall of the edge... Like a suicidal person making a break for the ledge that piece of would has one single thought in its mind... Nothing. It has no cares, no worries, no memories like you and I... For sure if that wood could think it would surely have expected to fall off the tree and into the stream floating down a river... Or to be picked up by some dog, played with by a kid or just lying there helpless... Motionless. Like a rock. There is nothing that can be done... Its just inevitable. That wood worked hard to grow with that tree just to fall. Falling can be hard, oh yes... So hard... but sometimes that is when you take a breathe... Of course... air, sustenance of life for the lungs. You just let yourself go and let yourself grow and when it comes time to break away and free... You just fall. When you fall, hopefully you splash down into the stream heading for the waterfall. So you have an edge to jump from. Yes it will be scary, nerve racking and you may not have a thought at all... But at least you will get the chance to leap again. Falling on the ground you have no chance at all to go anywhere. If I was that wood... I would stick it out to the end and just fall. Poem BY Donovan G. Ward If I Were a Piece of Wood.
Posted on: Thu, 24 Oct 2013 06:30:10 +0000
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