Every storm begins with a drop of rain
Every journey takes a step
Every tale a single word
So stories are told
And legends begin
A while back I started writing stories to see if people liked what I wrote. Part of it was to see if anyone would read what I wrote. A test whether it was worth an attempt to write a story. However, I found myself slaving away to meet my Monday deadline. Between that drive to meet the deadline and the sudden increase at work, I felt burned out and tired.
Since then I have returned to posting a new poem whenever work allowed me.
For a while, I thought about giving up blogging and writing altogether. I saw it mostly as something I did for fun and for myself. I was also getting tired of going in cycles where I would post regularly then go through spans of posting nothing.
But lately, three of my friends have been encouraging me to finish a novel and get it published. So I stand once more and I am going to commit to writing a blog. Not only that but also start using Instagram to document and to build a fanbase.
I am not sure whether I will be successful or not but I do know this:
If I don’t try, I will never succeed.
Life pounds away at heart and soul
Like an ocean strikes at stones
It smooths and shapes
Grinds and shifts
Changing and shifting
Smoothing and breaking
Every day, every second
Life shapes and moves
Some are the crushing storms
Others are gentle caresses
Yet each wave shapes and smooths
Thus the end we are the same
Yet changed by life
Tick tick tick tick
The seconds sweep by
Little moments in a minute
Little thought of
Yet every tick is a second closer
To greater things
Or ending of chapters
Tick tick tick tick
The seconds sweep by
Let them be counted
As precious as the hours
For in a second
A life can change
In a second
A thousand things can happen
Turkeys are cooking
Snow is falling
And Christmas lights a’glowing
We count our blessings
Remembering the good things
Be they large or small
And giving thanks for all
But not all enjoy this season
Some have no reason
Some huddle beneath bridges
Some hide from relatives
When you pray and give thanks
Spare a moment and give a thought
To all those who are without
To all who are hurting now
The morning breaks silent and still
Rows upon rows of men stand still
Their spears gleam in the light
Like a thousand lamps
Their shields polished silver and bright
The day gains strength
Rows upon rows of men prepare
Their hands grip weapons and shields
Ten thousand men stand ready
Ten thousand men stand still
A terrible horn is heard
Than the ground begins to shake
Out of darkness they come
A steady beat of feet against earth
Out of the darkness come men
Out of the darkness comes the enemy
Bronze shield form a living wall
A forest of spears follows
A terrible sight to behold
An army greater than had thought
On and on they pour through
Ten thousand men at the front
With many more following still
Hearts are shaken
And knees tremble at that sight
One man rides before the silver host
“Stand your ground!” He cries
Today we fight not for our own
but for our families
Today we fight not for our king
But for our love ones
Today we stand and defend
With a roar the silver legion cries
A wall of silver forms agains the wall of bronze
Silent in resolve
Weapons made ready
The silver host stands still
As the enemy marches on
Ten thousand feet
Five thousand feet
Three thousand feet
One thousand feet
To adults, a dangerous hazard while driving or walking about late at night.
To kids, a wonder of walking through a cloud.
To movie makers, a key element for suspense.
Fog is often used or seen as something supernatural or spooky. The harbinger of the monster’s arrival or the warning of some character’s death. In reality, fog can hide dangers in driving or hiking. Obscuring familiar landmarks while hiding holes or drop offs. Some people don’t like it.
But I rather like the fog, not for the thrill factor but fog changes things.
Fog strikes me almost like an artist painting over a photo. It warps familiar landscapes and scatters light in a strange way. People appear and vanish only a few feet away.
By walking through thick fog, one can easily see how fog was seen as doorways to another world. Maybe they still are. Not the magical or mystical doors of the ancient eras but the mysteries and wonders for artists and writers.
It’s the simple things that matter.
That is what many people say with smiling faces and perfect lives. And a lot of times I glare at them and say, “That’s easy for you to say. You have everything.”
But it is true.
Lately, on my commute home traffic has been snarled. A side road often gets me around the bottleneck. But I don’t take it to avoid traffic or because it is faster. I take it because it is one of the most beautiful scenic routes I have found. It is a winding dirt road with old trees lining either side. Their branches reach up and over, forming a tunnel of branches. Breaks in the trees allow light to pass through, providing a warm setting. With the right amount of cars kicking up dust, it becomes fog-like.
It is a beautiful drive and I love it.
And it is little more than a detour on a narrow farm road.
But it is a simple thing that makes me happy. In this world of negatives and depressing news, finding small things that makes one happy is rare indeed.