Creative Writing: When you can't get an idea out
The Start of a Story?
It’s a beautiful world. There’s not a lot you can’t do or see if you’re willing to go out and look for it. Walking around can get you most anywhere, and it can get you there with your daily supply of vitamin D. I’d like to think of myself as a traveler, I’ve been around a few places, and when I get there, I always walk. I somehow wish you could capture the experience of a walk in some kind of capsule, but for now, photography and sound recordings will have to do. Even then, you don’t really get the right feeling. Sound recordings leave you hanging in space, wondering how the microphone is moving about, and pictures are all the feeling in a place. But… nothing, nothing can catch the smell. And you wish it could, you always do, the feel of the breeze with the smell of a little store round the corner.
I think perhaps I like it best when I find something unexpectedly. The other day, I was walking back from the clock shop, and I came through the park, and as I walked by, I was looking at the ground. Certainly, this is the norm for most. Because you live here, it means you take it for granted; the world about you is normal, and therefore to pay attention to it seems a waste of time and concentration. But as I walked, looking down, deep in my own thoughts about my project, I noticed the ground. The ground should have been plain asphalt path leading from the heart of Bethesda, to the suburbs, a block away; but instead, it was fringed in white, and fuzzy. It startled me from my self-absorbed thoughts, and I looked at the park around me.
The grass was grass, but small tendrils of white reached from the ground. It was barely perceptible, but it looked like someone had balanced little flakes of snow in between the blades of grass. You could tell it was there only if you were paying attention. Those who couldn’t wake themselves from the view of their feet would miss it. It was a prize for looking up, or perhaps being young. And as I gazed about and wondered what was going on, a new ball of white fell from above me. I looked about, and it hit me. The tree was snowing cotton. Little balls of white, like the world’s biggest dandelion. I grabbed at some of the stuff and it was soft to the touch, and even softer as a big ball of the stuff. And it was then that I realized I loved walking. If I had only grabbed the keys and driven, I wouldn’t have even noticed it. Let alone touched it. I probably wouldn’t have even seen it until after the next rain, where all of it looked like the wet fur of a dog, only since it wasn’t on a dog, it wasn’t so endearing.
What does the world miss when it goes whizzing about in its cars? The stripes on the road are lengthened for the roads that have higher speed limits, to let the people have a longer look. But what do they see for all the beautiful things on the side of the road? You can’t stretch out a tree. You can’t make it easier to “read” the bugs in a bed of flowers. You can’t smell the breeze of a warm summer day when you have your windows rolled-up and your AC on, so why would I drive where I could walk?
Posted by Kickmyassman at May 29, 2007 12:36 AM