![]() An AgeA Story by Clinton A Jones![]() From a writing prompt: "What's the best/worst thing about being the age you are right now? Write about it."![]()
"It's an arbitrary, man-made magic number." One of a series listed on the
back of a fortune cookie slip, a fortune cookie that topped off the meal I just ate -- and eating is so important now, a finer thing that became over time. Now you can't eat just anything anymore, just when you've grown to appreciate variety (even though you've stopped stuffing frozen junk through your system). But the body fails, that's obvious and no surprise. Why think about it more than you have to? The mind is different: hardened, but at the same time less certain. It holds both actions never taken and rituals, faithfully acted to help mark the passing of time -- something always done only on the weekend to make the Sunday dread of slow ending less paralyzing. The flowing river branches, memories are fragmented, working backward to the single narrow inlet where shapes are blurred and uncertain. In the other direction, more branches reach: the trunk is a fact, but indistinct, a core fashioned of fondest and most regretful moments. Even as these thoughts proceed, an e-mail from a friend dips into the stream. Effortlessly I reply with a taste of the words that pool here -- unavoidable interruption, flowing change, the flow only parts to collect again beyond the obstacle. The branches, the limited possibilities all subdivide as shed tree limbs dry up and break apart this winter. What is renewal? What is this healing process of life that tears, splits, wants to cling? I see a familiar tortured, wind-twisted coastal starveling spruce drawing impossible life from cold rock every year this time, even as cruel sculpting elements reveal a material soul. The scrawny sapling has clearly taken shape long ago. What is unlikely now? What can be changed and pursued, and why are those things important? Sometimes the sap carries a reminder, some half-remembered resolution or desire, a nostalgic itch, pointing back in a vague way that is more specific than the sweeping solar azimuth. 03-FEB-2010 © 2010 Clinton A Jones |
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Added on February 4, 2010 Last Updated on February 4, 2010 Author![]() Clinton A JonesTigard, ORAboutReading great literature helped me abandon writing... but I'm a little older and wiser now, ready to start scribbling again. more..Writing
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