The Timer

The timer beneath the corner table just turned off the light.

It rained all through the night, and even though the blinds are up and the window open to let in the fresh cool air, the heavy clouds hanging low above the city make the keyboard hard for my old eyes to see. And yet, I am compelled by… well… actually, I don’t know why I brought up this blank page and began to speak onto it. My mind—as old (it seems older) as my eyes—keeps wondering why I’m doing it. It’s not like I have Me writinganything important to share.

It seems this is how I reflect on things, and I often stop as quickly as I start, realizing I have nothing to say—to me, or anyone else. But once in a while—a great while—something comes out of the thoughts that flit about and then hide. And so I let my mind and fingers ramble, wondering as I do if something of substance and meaning might dart from the recesses and grab someone by the soul?

I keep thinking about the timer… and the light.

Advertisements

Please leave a comment! We love hearing from you!

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: