His breathing intensifies accelerating unbearable. He pushes the solid surface beneath his palms, fighting to get away from her, pushes away only to be pulled back. He repeats again and again, each repitition working his body as a piston. Each push escorted by an exhaling burst, each failure accompanied by a desperate inhaling fortification. He cannot escape her.
He’s been here before
though he doesn’t know it.
He stands rigid
unmoving upon a
surface black as nothing.
But the surface is
alive, shifting beneath
waving breathing crashing.
Ahead, miles away
yet just within reach,
the woods stand guard
trees at their posts
nothing skirts by.
He knows this place.
Lights, translucent
but vibrant, dance
upon the dark shapes
like wisps of sand over
smooth desert rock, their
glimmering majesty
both ominous and pure.
The source of light is
unknown, coming from
behind above or
below, though he
cannot turn to see.
He can only stand,
a servant to the
grandness gleaming
before him. He reaches
out, but the shapes fall
back disappearing
to the endless void.
That or the woods
remain while the lights
fade back. He knows not
which; a moot point, as
darkness swallows him.
A chilly but gradually warming early morning. A processional of cars orderly fills the grass parking lot. Players by the dozens trek across the fields in anticipation for the weekend.
The sun creeps higher above the horizon. Lines of footprints meander through a veil of dew covering the grass. Young men and women alike cluster about the fields as they begin rituals of wrapping ankles, lacing cleats, and .
Discs begin to fly between bodies. Between throwing and catching, hands rub together to warm chilled hands. Bands of players jog laps around end zones to waken the legs.
Individuals conglomerate into teams as they run quick drills to instill focus. The drills disband as teams form into huddles. Rising bellows of intensity propagate through the brisk air.
A chilly but gradually warming early morning. A processional of cars orderly fills the grass parking lot. Players by the dozens trek across the fields in anticipation for the weekend.
took a walk tonight. it had been awhile since i’d walked at night. used to do it all the time in iowa city, but the area of charlotte i live in doesn’t have any good areas to walk through. sounds ridiculous, i know. just something about the neighborhood makes it such that i can’t think and lose myself the way i used to back in iowa city. tonight got my mind turning so it was relieving.
i know it’s the name of my site and all, but i really love autumn. i’ve had this dreadful feeling all summer that i won’t get to experience autumn in iowa this year. i guess i’m afraid the season doesn’t occur in charlotte the way it does in the midwest. or maybe i’m afraid i won’t have anyone to share it with like i did last year. then again, whenever i think of autumn, it’s always through images of iowa city, so perhaps it’s just the town that i miss. maybe i need both to fill this void.
it was a clear sky tonight. stars were out. made me feel like i wasn’t totally alone. funny the way they do that.
i’m doing it. walking my line, the one i worked so hard to trace for myself. i believed this was the direction i wanted to take, but lately i find myself questioning ideas which i thought to be well-grounded. it’s something beyond doubt though, something bigger. don’t know what it is, but it feels almost like a loss of faith. not religious faith, but faith in what i believed i knew about myself. i feel largely disillusioned, let down by that to which my desired path has lead me. maybe i need to re-examine my tracing, or perhaps my line is adequate as is, but simply lacks something i need, perhaps more than one thing is lacking. i’m more inclined to think the latter, which means i need to find those missing pieces.
still missing iowa. is iowa one of the missing pieces?
