The prompt for today is the picture below. Leah is amazing and is doing these even though she is on vacation. Here is Deb's. It's fun and will make you want to read more of her stuff. Check it out.
I sit in my house in the middle of the lake.
The bridge is controlled by me.
I sit in my house in the middle of the lake.
The bridge is controlled by me.
Looking up, I have clocks on the wall. Hundreds of them. And
I’m not sure how they all fit in here. This is not a large house. They tell time:
my time, my kids’ time, publisher’s time, school’s time, my family’s time and
more. I can never seem to keep them all ticking at the same pace.
Books are piled up on the desks and tables. They’re on the
shelves and on the floor. Some of them are huge and thick, like Things I Didn’t Do, but Think I Should Have
or How to Fail at Parenting. Some of
them are small, some well-loved, some falling apart. I wish sometimes that Fearfully and Wonderfully Made was
pocket size and I could have it with me if I ever left. Sometimes I think I
should get rid of some of the clutter, but my motivation is sapped by my desire
to sit and read.
Out the window, the lake is beautiful. The green trees and
mountains reflected in its stillness. But I stay here. Even the bridge is
treacherous, and I would rather be safe. There are things that lurk beneath the
stillness of the water. Terrible and frightful things that no one wants to talk
about. So I stay here.
Sometimes I wish someone would be brave and cross the bridge
anyway. Bring a sword and slay the beasts so I could leave. I’m not sure anyone
even knows I am here. But it would be nice to know there are brave knights or
even not-so-brave ones with laser guns that would come and do a good deed. It would be nice to be found and be taken out
of the clutter and ticking.
But I've been here for a long time. Days and days and days.
And perhaps no one is coming. Perhaps, I need to be brave. I think, maybe, I have to save myself.
Hmm. It feels like this piece is still water and I'm wondering what lurks beneath :)
ReplyDeleteThe beginning poem seems to be an echo from the clocks in the house. I love the cadence. And that everyone has their own time. I love the title of the books. And I love that the narrator just sits, wishing someone else would come. And yet, at the end, there is a hint of a desire to change even if the narrator has to do it.
ReplyDelete