The bite of cigarette smoke gently wafts past
threatening to close my throat,
just before a gentle rain starts to fall.
Smell of life
rising from the grey sky
as I sweep the dust out of my workshop.
A dog drags a woman along the sidewalk.
The boom-boom bass blasts from
a car racing down the street.
Sweet skunk aroma from the house next door
briefly intrudes before a leaf sails
past my door to the world.
My eyes drift upwards.
Trees bend as the wind
carries the burning past
to the east.
Dust, smoke, rain and fire
combine and rewrite
the stories we tell.
Stories are on my mind today. The narratives of our lives. How we tell them. When we tell them and who we tell them to. This year a new shared story is being written in to our collective conciseness. A powerful new story with measures of loss, fear, doubt, and hope.
In 2001 we added, “Where were you on 9/11.” I was at home, getting ready to go to work. I’d just cast my father’s ashes at sea while preparing to marry the love of my life. Back then I wondered how much can a person take in – how much change will we endure in a life time?
Nothing is static. Life is an unending parade of change. Just about the time you have a nice routine going – something changes. A birth. A death. An illness. A job loss. A new job … All conspire to push you into places you don’t want to go.
The more we fight to keep things the same, the more change is thrust at us.
The only constant is that we have stories to tell.
Stories of how we faced the inevitable change.
At the end of the world, the only currency that will remain will be the stories we tell, and are told about us.
What story are you writing with your life?
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