My son, the poet
Many times, I stand amazed at my family. Will has grown so much in this past year at college, and he's become this amazing writer. What amazes me is that he is only at the inception of this wonderful life of writing.
Things have been hard lately, my mind has been flooded with so many unpleasant feelings, saddness, grief, dispair. I opened his latest note on facebook and am instantly taken to another place. I love my son, Will. He is amazing:
hoping, wishing, waiting.
On this wicker chair. Shielded by the overhang of the patio from the pouring rain. The rain, for some inexplicable reason has this overwhelming feeling of distress. What it is...I do not know...
Sitting...following the descent of a single drop onto the lonely tire swing, which thumps as the drop makes impact. While the ting of one hitting the rusty bicycle complements every other drop that hits a puddle, the overhang, as well as the upside-down pail stuck in the what now is quicksand from the sandbox. All creating an orchestra of despair. Listening, the sound of sorrow still lingers. As I ponder just what it is that could be making the rain sad, I see a silhouette...playing in the distance.
Has she gone mad? This rain has no joyous feeling...and all the while I question her motives I cannot feel but envious of what she has. With a gleeful attitude in the melancholy rain she makes her attempts at happiness revealed. I sit on the wicker chair astounded that someone could find joy with such sorrow all around. Do I ask? Do I expose myself to the rain to see her vibrancy firsthand? Would I find what she has? What does she know about this rain that I do not?
On my wicker chair I hear the rain fall... This rain. In a sudden instant it steadies...and becomes a new feeling. Anticipation, and now comes down in an all too familiar beat. As I get up, the rain's tempo quickens...
The Rain stops...
Happiness.
Things have been hard lately, my mind has been flooded with so many unpleasant feelings, saddness, grief, dispair. I opened his latest note on facebook and am instantly taken to another place. I love my son, Will. He is amazing:
on the wicker chair.
hoping, wishing, waiting.
On this wicker chair. Shielded by the overhang of the patio from the pouring rain. The rain, for some inexplicable reason has this overwhelming feeling of distress. What it is...I do not know...
Sitting...following the descent of a single drop onto the lonely tire swing, which thumps as the drop makes impact. While the ting of one hitting the rusty bicycle complements every other drop that hits a puddle, the overhang, as well as the upside-down pail stuck in the what now is quicksand from the sandbox. All creating an orchestra of despair. Listening, the sound of sorrow still lingers. As I ponder just what it is that could be making the rain sad, I see a silhouette...playing in the distance.
Has she gone mad? This rain has no joyous feeling...and all the while I question her motives I cannot feel but envious of what she has. With a gleeful attitude in the melancholy rain she makes her attempts at happiness revealed. I sit on the wicker chair astounded that someone could find joy with such sorrow all around. Do I ask? Do I expose myself to the rain to see her vibrancy firsthand? Would I find what she has? What does she know about this rain that I do not?
On my wicker chair I hear the rain fall... This rain. In a sudden instant it steadies...and becomes a new feeling. Anticipation, and now comes down in an all too familiar beat. As I get up, the rain's tempo quickens...
The Rain stops...
Happiness.
posted by Rebecca at 7:05 PM
2 Comments:
LW is a great writer! Wow! Bravo!
Pretty darn amazing. :)
Post a Comment
<< Home