Last year, my world was huge and filled with infinite possibility. I stood on a rock, familiar,
and safe, with the people I love, looking out at a landscape of extraordinary opportunity. I
created feverishly in my forest den, escaping into a secret space of imagination and
freedom. When the working day was done, I came back to my rock. I scanned the horizon,
content in the knowledge that an incredible journey was about to begin.
I'd struck gold, it seemed. I'd found balance in my life. I had a purpose. I'd discovered
something I was truly good at. Soon, I would share that idea with the great wide world,
confident in finding others who believed in me and could help me on my way.
By winter, everything changed. Something was going on far, far away. I continued to create,
but in the fringes of my mind, I knew something was coming. I looked out, and not a trace
could be seen. I got on with things, and planned, and made merry, but still, I couldn't shake
the feeling that an unknown menace was on its way.
By spring, as the sprigs thawed, compartment by compartment, the Earth shut down. I
thought about all the places I’d been in that vastness now lost to me. The places I'd not yet seen. It had never seemed significant before, but now, inaccessible, the bubble closed in,
and I started to feel different about my rock. I spent more time in my cave, pretending that
my world wasn't shrinking.
I heard the plight of the people carrying on the breeze—the uncertainty and sickness. The
worry and poverty tainted everything it touched. It hung in the air like a melancholic smog,
and I wasn't ready to accept it then. The world was no longer concerned with fun and light. It had a battle on its hands and needed to focus on that. I held no place in this new reality. My skills were no longer required.
But I believed even one smile could make a difference. I sent out the best of them to anyone
who needed it. I projected them across the ether to those I could no longer see. I wrote
down my words, from heart to paper, and sent them out into a declining world. I pushed
back the encroaching storm with resilience and consistency. If I continued to write and
share, then this shift would not defeat me. This pause would not delete me.
And the summer yawned on in a dream. Children played in empty fields. In the myriad of
boxes that once carried supplies. We communicated remotely, in this way and that, but
none that allowed for that gift given unconsciously, one aura to another. That gift that
comes only with true contact. The nuts and bolts of the human condition lay discarded.
Hugs and kisses. The handshakes and shoulders to cry on. We were islands of pent up
emotion, waves crashing about them.
And my rock shook, just a little. It couldn't support us like it used to. Not now we are pulling
away. Cracks appeared. Hideaway. Keep safe, it said. But my spirit flies, eager to reconnect
to the natural world. But I didn't stray too far. Not yet.
And as the tree shed its golden mane, I scanned the horizon. Great clouds had appeared,
bringing tidings of despair: pain and loss. No longer away, out to sea, or across the bay, but
here on my rock. Heat and cold. The clouds opened up—a relentless outpouring of
frustration and grief. Pooling and bubbling, washing away all that I knew. I send out, I send, I
send, even though the beast is at my door. Pulling down the places I love, and the people I
care about.
And the winter rolls in…
Last year, my world was huge and filled with infinite possibility. I stood on a rock, familiar,
and safe, with the people I love, looking out at a landscape of wondrous opportunity. I
created feverishly in my little forest den, escaping into a secret space of imagination and
freedom. When the working day was done, I came back to my rock and scanned the
horizon, content in the knowledge that a great journey was about to begin.
And yet, never really start.
