The sun fell some time ago; escaping over mountains and sea to inflict its warmth upon yester-nights dreamers. I watched it fade, staring into the bright abyss until my eyes welled up with effervescent tears and welcomed the Full Worm Moon like a lover left waiting too long too late. My breath escaped me in smoke rings swirling, loving something so distant is so cold.
I’ve been thinking so much lately about everything I am missing out on. I fall away and come back in rivulets, little pieces upon request and yet the majority of me is out there waiting.
I miss when I wasn’t so afraid to walk barefoot, like a child’s pitter-patter feet that never consider what might be under them. The way the chill of worn and crumbling bricks, sooted soil and debris never seem to mind on their padded toes. I got old and my feet thinned to sheets; a paper-mache lined with blue criss-cross veins too dry in this static air and too caught up in what might be underneath them that I miss out on the simple joy of feeling. I watch my son in his nativity of organisms laugh, he jumps towards the sky and falls back on light feet in a dance I may have known once a long, long time ago.
When I was a little girl I used to run through the forest with naked feet and feel the crawdads and tadpoles nibble at my toes in creek-beds flooded with the previous days rain. Years ago in days that were not consumed in concerns or worries when I passed the time hunting grasshoppers and collecting dandelions. I miss that simplicity and there is something terribly sad about how it will go unfounded in the lives I’ve created. The new world is breaking in on the smaller spaces, eating up – inch by inch – the idealism of country town life. There is always land to pave, houses to build, towers to shoot from the ground and overrun the still air with waves for cellphones and computers. “Make way!” They seem to scream… the only places for peace were purchased that way as iconic Americana.
There are days when I look at my children like strangers, more so my teen than my youngest who has yet to be molded into this digital society. I simply cannot understand his inability to simply be; to walk outside and rest the mind, to feel the wind in a passing car, to not consider where he is going rather than just enjoying the time getting there. As he grew up, we grew outward in our eras, his generation never knew the corded phone, the days without consistent T.V. access, Red Rover and Mother May I; Simon Says – take a step back. Nothing was instant which is why we have more patience, there was no quick ability to know what someone was thinking via a social media update, you had to learn how to read people and understand them. Now there are only blank faces staring back, we lost expression in 125 characters.
I think about these things a lot. Sometimes it’s like staring at a wall and waiting for it to crumble. The world I knew once is disappearing into the unknown. I am beginning to understand the feelings of the generations before me, understanding age and the difference in judgement. I look at humanity and I’m both awestruck and also dismayed. Where one half of the world is fighting for the right to live, sacrificing their lives for the good of their people, the other half is fighting for their right to selfishness and their rights to not have to sacrifice their lives for children or anyone else for that matter. There is such an imbalance in the world that I feel like I’m standing in the middle of a see-saw and at any moment it is going to tip one way or the other and whatever was on the other side will fly off into the abysmal gravel of the playground littered with empty plastic bottles and left over cigarette butts. Gone. I’m just standing here, staring off in space wondering with an oblivious teenager and a tot who has yet to see the world in it’s less than pastel color tones.
At some point I will have to find my way back inside, away from the silence in my mind from all the white noise I’ve been reading and hearing lately. My mind is too shallow in its memory to keep all this in, I’m losing perception. I miss what will never be again, miss what could have been, miss what my children may never know. I tell myself that everyone grows older at some point- treading weary as the pads in their feet become brittle with age and lose the ignorance or the inability to be concerned with trivial things like dirt. In some way I suppose that explains my love affair with the Moonlight, it’s just a mirage that cannot be trod upon, an illusion trickier than a memory, a ghost from some other age where we dreamed of flying space-ships. I fall in love with my imagination of things and yearn, or mourn, the passing of it into reality.
In this way, the Sun must always rise.