MUSINGS FROM MIDLIFE
My Stories
Scribbled
“And just like the moon, you shall go through phases of light, of dark, and everything inbetween. And though you may not always appear with the same brightness, you are always whole.” Unknown
Scribbles from my journal: The year of dirt; listening to my daughter pumping out words to a song elevated by a can of Monster on the eve of her formal; a honking deer startled by my presence; tasting liquorice as I barrel up the highway keeping myself awake to ride a gravel event early next morning;
The Journey
One day you finally knew what you had to do, and began, though the voices around you kept shouting their bad advice — though the whole house began to tremble and you felt the old tug at your ankles. “Mend my life!” each voice cried. But you did not stop. You knew what you had to do, though the wind pried with its stiff fingers at the very foundations, though their melancholy was terrible. It was already late enough, and a wild night, and the road full of fallen branches and stones. But little by little as you left their voices behind, the stars began to burn through the sheets of clouds, and there was a new voice which you slowly recognised as your own, that kept you company as you strode deeper and deeper into the world, determined to do the only thing you could do — determined to save the only life you could save.