Within me—my mind, body, thoughts—there’s this inner dialogue I’m observing. It’s an uncertain voice, timid even, and I question its role in my life. At times, I think it’s godlike, an omnipotent crystal ball. Other times, I wish I could banish it from me forever. And still, at different times, I think it’s a telepathic link to friends and family. I do enjoy the way it helps me when writing and puzzling over word placement and its guidance in helping me choose which words sound best where.
At the end of the previous sentence, I saw a xylophone and imagined the wooden mallet hitting the bars in sing-songy succession.
A sentence—its cadence and sudden stops—can play out like the fiercest conductor commanding an orchestra. Or it can be like that one firework you save for the finale, the one you wait to light at the end. And once lit, you watch the fuse’s mini explosions tighten bodies in anticipation, loading them for the ultimate crescendo. But then, nothing. A dud? Then you wait. And wait. And wait.
And then, a sound, a cheery echo in the night. The owls are out, as is a pack of coyotes under a large wedge of moon. It’s just a night, and yet, what a night it is. And when a yawn comes, the shift from here to there is obvious. The transition is the end.
Love,
Jaclynn
Going On 40 