I was a turtle on his back, rocking to my freedom. Set loose in a land of haste, in a world turned to badlands. I crawled to the edge of time and scored the beat of my heart to the tune of the clock. Gears shifting. Arms winding. Patience thinning. I saw myself in every one like me, but they saw no resemblance. They saw only difference. The walls around me changed with the seasons, but my temperature didn’t waver. Instead, I grew into the warmth for twelve months out of the year and was comfortable. But comfort wore like a baggy tee shirt, and I was swimming in ignorance and complacency. When I began to feel the cold, I tied the string of a balloon around my neck and lifted off ground. I floated away as the walls collapsed, no longer having a reason to stand firm. Now I weave in and out of the measure of my symphony, and replay my youth to remind me that no matter how far into the future I make it, it’s never far off behind.


7 thoughts on “Youth

      1. Thank you! I’ve noticed that you and I tend to weave our way in and out of our blogs amid long absences but it’s always good to read your posts and know that your French & your creative writing & all that that means as well as your stamina outlast the “weavings.” If you know what I mean 🙂 What a journey, eh? Blessings on yours.

      2. That’s kind of you to notice, and I’ve noticed the same on your end. No matter our respective paths, there always seems to be some sort of draw back to our blogs. This has been my only successful attempt at keeping a blog and I’m very proud of that. I’m also grateful to have made your acquaintance here in this cyber universe of web logging. 🙂

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