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ShadyBrady

Location: Coos Bay, Oregon , United States

Gender: M

Member Since: January 2019

Last online: November 2020

Open for read requests: Yes

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Last Updated Nov 30, -0001

There is no end in sight

Greetings and salutations!

There are a great many diverse forces exercising influence in my personal orbit at present. Seasons are changing.

The full moon of All Hallows Eve has vanished beyond the horizon. The new day is awash in November sunshine, cool and crisp to the touch, but every bit as beautiful as its summertime cousin.

The shadows of night have given way to vibrant colors, sounds and fragrances of the waking world...and yet the veil between our realm and that of our ancestors, for me, as yet remains precariously thin.

 I lay in my bed on this Sunday morning and look out my window at the freshly painted expanse of the mighty McCullough Memorial Bridge it's outstretched arms pulling at the two shores of the bay to bring them closer together in the name of convenience, commerce, and recreation.    

Laying here in the stillness of a new morning, listening to the crows making a noisy ruckus beyond the pane of glass that insulates me from the world, I think about my ancestors who had to ferry themselves and their meager belongings across this same stretch in dugout canoes. Yes, seasons have changed.

 

Today, with no particular direction or ambition, save to practice my hobby of stacking words, I take pause to marvel at the vibrance of that which, so often, is taken for granted. I grow weary of wasting away in this bed, but do not at present possess the strength nor the desire to throw off these bed clothes and rush headlong into the light, color and majesty of divine creation. Maybe on another day.

 

No. Today I choose to exercise my mind rather than my body.  Playing with words. Arranging them in patterns familiar and unfamiliar for my own amusement.  Trying, (and now failing), to stay away from words like "radiation", "medications", and "cancer", because these unfortunate words have once more insinuated themselves into my family, my daily orbit, and my being.

 

Oh, there's nothing to worry about, really. The doctors are on it. I am one of the fortunate ones. My survivability rate is something like 98%, if google is to be believed. And really, is there any more credible source of information?  

And yet that thin membrane separating me, laying here in my bed, from those countless generations of ancestors who braved the waters and the wilderness of the Pacific Northwest for those thousands of years before the sand and the wind and the waves were domesticated by the trappings of human habitation, has never seemed so frail and fragile.

 

Maybe the seasons are changing.


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I think I've always been a writer. In one of my past incarnations, I fancy that I must have been a scribe. Who knows. In this life I was (too) heavily influenced by Theodor Geisel...a.k.a. "Dr. Seuss". That may, or may not be evident in much of my "work".

  Haven't been published yet, unless you count editorial comment in the local newspaper. 

The first major writing project of my life, a novella, I guess, I entered into the "First Chapter" contest on this site, even though the first chapter is the worst chapter in my case. So it goes.

I have taken to posting my version of poetry here in Booksie. My moldy oldies and newy gooies alike. If you enjoy any of my mental meanderings, I thank you for taking the time to wander the trails of my subconcious.

 

Peace. Out.

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