The Possibility of Words

A vague memory will surface from time to time of when I was about four or five years old, and my mother was teaching me how to read. I can recall the annoyance and frustration my four-year-old self felt of being "forced" to do such tedious work as stringing the sounds of letters together to make words. Now, of course, I feel nothing but gratitude for her dodged patience and persistence, because I find that I have fallen in love with the written word. I love the possibility that exists within them. I love feeling that a blank page is like a canvas, and that the words I put on it create a painting. I love the thrill of opening a new book and not knowing where the words will take me, and the thrill of opening an old book and being able to take the journey again.

Words can create and destroy. They can soothe and rile. They can pull forth the entire range of human emotion, and paint vistas that are beautiful or ugly, and every possibility in between. Words can take the reader to far off and exotic places - whether they exist in reality or not. They can bring the past to life, or illuminate a future. Combined skillfully, words can walk the reader down the corridor of a medieval castle, or the mud strewn ruts of a peasant village. They can send you soaring into the sky on the backs of dragons and plunge you into the abyss of the ocean. Words can be beautiful, mundane, startling, bold, evasive, dangerous...everything is a possibility.

This, perhaps, is why I love writing so much. I dabbled in it as a child, creating poems and ballads, but not until I graduated from university did I begin to devote time to it in earnest, and it has quickly become a passion.

Because that is what I love - I love to create things.

To weave pictures and paint words.

The Big Boy and the Little Man

Keani: "What is that thing?"

Keani: "I can't get the toy, Mom..."

Keani: "Yes! He's distracted. Gonna grab it while I've got the chance."

This is how Keani eats; taking kibble bits out of his bowl and dropping them on the floor.

Icewind: "Don't worry Mom, I'll clean it up."

Keani: "I'll think I'll eat my food after all. I don't need your help."

Keani: "Gotta finish this before he comes back."

Icewind: "Oh, fine, I'll eat my own food. It's exactly the same anyway."

Keani: "My foot. This is my foot."

Keani in the driver's seat

Keani: Zzzzzz

Icewind: "Are you checking up on us?|

Inferno on the Road

A dense cloud of black smoke became visible as I approached the intersection, billowing up into the sky. Traffic, including myself, were diverted to the right, where most people opted to abandon their cars and scramble onto the grassy stretch beside a plaza to witness the blaze.

The photos don't capture it, but flames were licking out of the side in a huge snarling mass, writhing like they were alive. Thankfully, a woman standing by answered my anxious query about the driver with the information that whoever it was had gotten away. That was wonderful news.

A fire truck and a police cruiser pulled up just before I left, though. Not something you expect to see on the way home from work.

Ordinary or Extraordinary

The air was a blend of coolness and warmth on Monday. A wonderful day for a walk or two, despite the minute droplets of intermittent rain. We took advantage of the weather to go for a stroll in a local park. It's a place we've been to many, many times. Grasses, trees, flowers, leaves, water... as I explained to a student last week, two people can watch the same sunrise, and see something completely different. To one, it's just a sunrise. To the other, it's dark shadowy clouds dramatically under lit by the rising sun, with a rosy blush throughout. Same sunrise, different perspective.
Same park, different perspective.

Beauty

Bridging the distance

Quiet place for a picnic

Graceful arc

Tibetan Spaniels generally love being on high places, and Keani is no exception.

Autumn's touch

Park residents

Splashes of color. The flowers reminded me of snapdragons

Winding trail

Reflection

The sinuous shapes of trees

In a field of clover

Juxtaposition

Tree bark patterns

Ordinary or extraordinary?

Growing ducklings and their mother

Alone in a sea of green

Bridal trails of ivy

Touching a mirror

Icewind, happily on top of everything

In the driver's seat with Dad

 The Friendly Guardian