AUTUMN IN SEATTLE
Friday, late afternoon. Stopping at the Honey Bear Bakery for green tea. Pulling out your notebook. Journaling about things said and unsaid and unearthing partially remembered fragments. You’re writing it down and making it happen. Sometimes, while in the creative flow state – writing it down and lifting yourself up. Considering how we’re often given behind the scenes insights into other human selves in motion. Ten pages filled with voices and interactions from your life and times. Mind focused on a radio playing behind the counter or tuned into the collective unconscious conversing around you. Stepping outside, imagining the flowers have voices. Watching swirling clouds above treetops, as you walk around the lake. Information and knowledge are standing on the ledge, ready to jump. Early Autumn sings its seasonal song. Next version. Next vision. Next human interaction. Next misheard word. Next one foot in front of the other. Next waves you’ll fall into a trance watching at the Pacific Ocean. Next burrito or tamale at your favorite Mexican restaurant in Ballard. Living at a pinpoint in time near the end of a thousand-year cycle. In this wounded world. Lives intersecting for loving purposes or with damaging intent. World is holding its breath, as you watch weeks flip away on your mental calendar. Best case scenario – passion meets compassion and they get along.
Love that last line.
Thank you for sharing your writing Russel! I enjoy it.