About a year ago, I wrote a moderately rambling post in which I mentioned my interest in writing the autobiography of fire. As I mused about fire—what it is and what it does—I felt its connection to the sky. These words I wrote during that troubling, terrible time a year ago bring back, this morning, that sense of the connection:
The sky’s hunger is raw and unforgiving. The sky is like fire in that sense…The sky, though desolate and awash in passion, is an enigma. The sky is love in another form. In this cold predawn darkness, I feel the sky’s tender but passionate embrace.
I did not realize how close I was to the edge when I wrote that. Only when my world ruptured a few weeks later did I realize how badly I wanted to be consumed by fire so I could legitimately write its autobiography.
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I expect to receive an email alert any moment know, telling me my online order for groceries is ready for pickup. I prefer grocery shopping online to fighting the crowds in grocery stores, despite being unable, online, to select my own fruits and vegetables. Normally, I would already have received my email message, but I haven’t yet this morning. Perhaps it’s the fog that is keeping my email at bay. Perhaps the grocery store staff responsible for arriving early at the store and wandering the empty aisles on my behalf have been unable to get to work, thanks to the fog. There could be a million reasons I have yet to receive an email message. Even if I do not receive it, though, I will go to the store. I will take my IC’s car, since the cargo area of my vehicle remains filled with folded cardboard boxes, evidence that we have plans to pack our things and move in the near future.
Wait! I just got an email, informing me that my rye bread order could not be filled and that, instead, a different brand of rye bread would be substituted. I was not only happy with the substitution, I was ecstatic! I had mistakenly ordered the wrong brand; the store substituted the brand with which I am familiar. There is a god, after all! So, within just a few minutes, I will wander into the darkness to pick up yesterday’s grocery order. Hallelujah.
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I think I write best when confronting personal emotional turmoil. I’d rather write poorly, if that is the trade-off.
