That's Why You Should Write~

In self defense, I am learning to cook my dinner, eat, and wash my dishes before I turn on my computer at night. It's Skype. For some reason I said yes to having it in my start up. My computer rings within seconds of turning on. I suppose I should be humbled that my mere presence is necessary the very moment I'm available. But I wish to retire to the IRC channel. It scared me witless last week, but now seems like a comfortable haven.

~

"That's why you should write." Drew seems to hold this as an unavoidable destiny. For me, at least. I'm not sure what inspired this revelation, and I don't want to ask. It scares me a little. I do write. Not very often, so perhaps that doesn't count. But how often do you have to verbiate before it does? And count for what? To make my living of it? To simply dance from web to web in camaraderie? For the amusement of others?

And now I've fled from an IRC channel and the thought of story telling, coward that I am. It segues the evening into Bach and the Little Fugue. Light intricate notes fingering my spine might remind me to have one. It's always easier to gather courage in a rain of notes. They chill the hot flare of shame and patter the waves to soft ripples. The flight for fight spins as melody chases counter song in laughing footsteps.

I think it's this feeling I miss the most about Hawai'i, to the point of tears. I want to walk on the beach in the rain, and watch the ocean matte under the weeping of the sky. Bach's Little Fugue in G Minor. You would think that it was all grey. The ashes of the clouds over the slate of the sea. The vibrant green of a thousand days of rejoicing chlorophyll drooping like a wet cat and hissing. It's only when you sit and listen that it comes to you. It's a painting of the wind. A symphony of the air. The dappled dimpled water pattering in song. Your eyes close and you can almost hear the geometry of the chord. The golden mean between shore and shoal. And while you chase the patterned taps behind your eyelids, your fears dance in awe of the melancholy world and leave you behind.