Inside Out
There’s a fine line between the inner and outer worlds that we make for ourselves, the outer world of the intellect and the inner world of the imagination. One is entirely safe and the other, well, it’s not unsafe, let’s just say, I feel less comfortable in it.
And you? When was the last time you wrote verse in the sand? Or waited with bated-breath, trying to guess ahead what the skywriter would finally write? Or wrote a letter to your best friend in invisible ink made with lemon juice? Yesterday, last week, last year? If you can’t remember when, what’s happened in-between that’s been so important?
I own a hand-held Wordspin Scramble, it’s like a Da Vinci Code cryptex without the fancy scroll ends or the numbers or the box for that matter. The word IMAGINED only gives me a score of 16, how can that be, so little for so much?
The other day I watched the wind playfully tickle the tree across the road mercilessly. The interplay, from a distance however was quite enchanting. The trees reddish locks were shaking with delight. It’s gold highlights shimmered in the afternoon sun.
It was excruciating to watch too and I could feel my toes involuntarily curling up inside my shoes to stop the feeling of the unbearable pain that would eventually surpass the initial pleasure of being tickled when it came. But I couldn’t. Isn’t it odd that we can feel the sensation even when we are not the direct recipient?
I’m worried about Blackey, I haven’t seen him in six days, he’s not the flying south type, it seems so out of character for him to disappear days at a time. I catch myself scanning the skyline and his favourite branch in the orange tree outside my window, wondering, waiting.
There’s a new cat in the ‘hood, I’ll call him Lester. He’s tubby and walks with a slow even gait. He looks to have a rather disjointed heritage (which is fine by me) but he and Larry were shaping up to each other when they crossed pathes earlier.
I like Lester, firstly because he deftly stayed out of ears-shot from Larry’s left-hook jab and secondly because, he has the sense of being a lover not a fighter. He seems quite bookish with his large ocelot-like eyes, and something about the way he carries himself keeps Larry at bay, unwilling even to box his ears to establish my backyard as his backyard. Strange goings-on out there.
Inner world, outer world, it seems there’s so much to learn about it. The second day of winter seems like a good time to begin a journey. Hat, scarf and coat on it’s time to brave the elements. Do you need some help with your jacket?
