Whispering Treetops
April 8th 2012 10:56
Tired of the charade, I reached for my canine companion, hoping that its ambiguity would inspire a similar complexity in my own character. I had ignored it up till now, as it had shunned my presence, two sides of the same bad penny, distorted by time and distance. Perhaps it was my only chance at self discovery.
It was not to be. The ugly thing growled at me, its basso profundo thrumming in my ears like a warning from beyond the grave. We were both muddy oafs groveling under the choking skies, too cruel for comfort and too far away. It bit the hand that freed it.
Something unexpected happened again and again. Either I had shrunk to fit or the little creature had grown in stature to accommodate me. Whatever the truth was at this juncture, I was the last man on earth to know, encased as I was in my squalid beliefs. I had failed to take account of the drifting mist and the whispering treetops.
I rode my fantasy as far as I could as it galloped down memory lane and beyond the pale. It shook its great head and bellowed at the gathering storm that swept in from the mountains of madness. I was little more than an assemblage of other people’s ideas, a living, breathing, dying, weeping collage of ripped up recollections.
It was not to be. The ugly thing growled at me, its basso profundo thrumming in my ears like a warning from beyond the grave. We were both muddy oafs groveling under the choking skies, too cruel for comfort and too far away. It bit the hand that freed it.
Something unexpected happened again and again. Either I had shrunk to fit or the little creature had grown in stature to accommodate me. Whatever the truth was at this juncture, I was the last man on earth to know, encased as I was in my squalid beliefs. I had failed to take account of the drifting mist and the whispering treetops.
I rode my fantasy as far as I could as it galloped down memory lane and beyond the pale. It shook its great head and bellowed at the gathering storm that swept in from the mountains of madness. I was little more than an assemblage of other people’s ideas, a living, breathing, dying, weeping collage of ripped up recollections.
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