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Thursday, January 3, 2013

Home


  Our love glows like the lighted window of a cabin deep in the forest. It matters not that only I have traversed the breadth of these woods, picking my way by instinct, as unseeing as a mole, until I have worn new paths onto its leafy floor.
  Unexpected obstacles proliferate like mushrooms in autumn. I advance through them, searching in my despair for the treasured delicacies that you brought to our table, the ones that merited cries of delight upon discovery, a groan of sensual pleasure as you lifted them from our plate. I find the majority I encounter to be bland and tasteless, although they nourish me. The occasional mistake, those of a heartlessly promising but ultimately poisonous variety, have left me weak and disillusioned, entertaining defeat.
  The soaring oak and the walnut tree survive.  I have saved them from loggers and from my own sometimes dire need for firewood. Of the saplings we planted, some succumbed to thirst, others to ice, one or two to neglect, though many that I have tended thrive. Songbirds stop in their branches. I listen to them, but have never learned their names.
  I remain outside of our cabin, though, and it is often cold and sometimes I am lonely. The window is bright and staves off the darkness, but it is not warm and there is no shelter. The loggers do not recognize me, and no one comes to visit. I dare not open the door for fear of extinguishing the light. I don’t think I could stand the thought of it going out. I cannot imagine any other source filling that window, lighting up this part of the forest.

     survive  3: to continue to function or prosper despite : withstand

24 comments:

  1. An interesting tale of survival. Well written!

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  2. I really liked the soft words (with an underlying flavour of romance,longing & a sadness),used in this short narration,which leaves a trail of lots of unspoken yet strong emotions.Well done:-)

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    1. Yeah, the emotions were mine, so I hoped the unspoken would be yours.

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  3. Very interesting, choosing to survive the cold of the outside to preserve the warmth of the inside. Love it!

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    1. Love the way you put that, Draug. (Although you may not like them: hugs.)

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  4. Lovely descriptive words. I can feel the peace and tension of this place.

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    1. Yup, I guess both are there, lumdog. Thanks.

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  5. I love the idea that all future loves or at least encounters come from the first one.

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    1. Makes for a weird, but intensely human, connection. Thanks, Jennifer.

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  6. I love the tone of this - the nostalgia, the yearning, and the sadness. And I love the mushroom metaphor - the mistakes that leave you disillusioned 'entertaining defeat.' Great phrase. And the songbirds int he tree that you never learned the name of - that I so relate to. I can't tell you how many times I think I must learn the names of the songbirds outside my window. Wonderful piece.

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    1. Thank you so much, Steph. Some mushrooms are toxic, while a few are fatal.

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  7. This is delicate and sublte, but with a real undertone of strength. Nice balance in this piece.

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    1. Thanks, Courtenay. And for the heads up on the strength.

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  8. I know this place, the cold and hollow place of holding on to the past. Lovely piece.

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    1. Oh, you do know it. Thanks, Tri!

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  9. I like the metaphors you used in the story, especially the mushrooms. It feels like the character is administering self-punishment by remaining cold and lonely.

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    1. Thanks, Janna. Mushroom hunting is big here in Catalonia.

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  10. Beautiful and sad... picturing your farm as I read this. Cyndi

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