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Writing 101 Day 14, First Word & in a letter: Dawn


You’re a rusty dagger in the heart of this horizon. One white cloud—graceful and elegant—always shadows scenes like this. Today, a lone cumulus lays its somber consort on the tall grass, the way Picasso paints reclining nudes. Or Van Gogh…skies. Turns out, Van Gogh’s skies are closer to reality than what we see with our eyes. The sky is a swirling mass of living matter, constantly changing forms: liquid, solid, vapor. Our eyes see little. Certainly not reality. Nor a parallel universe where your heart rides a Harley, and dangerous things—like love and trust and honesty—abound.

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Here’s another truth we could never imagine from the heavens: Saturn is not our only planet with rings. And why is it so damn hard to change the way we feel? What are the rings made of? What binds a ring to one body, yet not another? You cannot believe anyone, but now, some people say Titan, a moon circling Uranus, has lakes and rivers and rain. But no water. An atmospheric soup of deadly gases. You say, “Trust me.” And yet, you trust no one. There will always be another lover waiting just around the corner. Dark matter holds everything together, black holes thrive.

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You believe there is no rain on Titan. You believe there is no hare with amber eyes. You believe the stars are wrong in this picture. Sometimes, you cannot imagine what your god is thinking. At times like this, we look at each other, you and I. We see only the hilt of daggers. We see people wishing they could walk backward to September. We both imagine swallowing someone else’s pride.

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Maybe we are the kind of people who imagine many things. We both imagine sipping high tea in a garden on the island of Loss and Faith. But we listen to A Symphony of Disappearing Beers. Call it wishful thinking. Or, call it karma, destiny, kismet. But we both know this unnatural selection is an allegory for heavy air. Heavy air, turns out, rises from the serrated horizon and veils the sunrise in a mist of vagaries we may never comprehend. We may never quite acquire the skills required to deal with dangerous things. We should have known.

Yours, truly.

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