Glimpses

It's March in Virginia, and old man Winter has pulled both hands out of his pockets. Chaffed and raw, one holds the dregs of winter; the other holds the promises of spring.

Reflecting on my last post, I rode the wave of my New Year's resolution. I had connected to Isaiah 48: 6-7 and expressed a desire to be more open to what is hidden, unknown, and created just now in every moment. Announcing my resolution aloud was risky; I've never done such a thing. So, when the energy boost that carried me through January and February fizzled, I felt chagrin. My sleep was off, and that put me in a funk. Personality-wise, I am no stranger to wallowing. I started to slip precariously on the slope where intentions slide and end up in the nether place that houses single socks, earpods, and lost keys. 

If, in January, my resolution was a balloon, it had sunk to the floor by March. Nothing dramatic had occurred. No squall had blown in. I woke up cranky for no apparent reason and harumphed around for a few days, feeling stuck at low tide. I missed the buoyancy and the satisfaction of getting so much done, yet my resolve invited me to ask what I might find hidden and new in my current lousy mood. Despite my pessimism, I was intrigued about what might happen.

Funny enough. Nothing much did. I ignored the laundry and allowed papers and stuff to accumulate on the counters. I told myself it was too cold to go outside for my daily constitutional, so I stayed in and watched videos. I couldn't write a thing.  I sat in my chair, wrung my hands,  pouted at my empty pages, and gazed out the window. In retrospect, I didn't realize I needed a respite from my busyness. There's much to recommend for productivity and as much for sitting in silence. 

I've always loved the image the great Thomas Merton gave us regarding silence. We should let it soak into our bones. So, soak I did, and out of the fallow field of me sprouted the memory of a writing exercise I used to love doing with my creative writing students when they needed a break from larger projects. Write first lines that grab attention and then add more to entice the reader. We called them Glimpses - small peeks at life that cause you to want more, but tantalize because there isn't any more. This was just the breath of air I needed and here is the collection I created just now for all of you.

Ginny's Glimpses

Tired of being slammed shut, the cabinet door closed one last time and moved to Phoenix. It left behind a few chipped cups, a torn bag of flour hosting weevils, and the shot glass. Wide open under a spacious sky, there are valleys for hiding, a mountain to climb, and a river to talk through every part of what went wrong.

***

Stretched out flat on her deck chair, the slimy woman gets mistaken for bacon. Her years-long friendship with sunglasses provides a shield from the young lovelies who glow in the sun like summer peaches. 

***

Bound and tightly rolled, the antique rug barreled into the young couple's apartment. It might ask for a knife and reveal its rich designs if only it could speak.

***

Masked bandits repeatedly steal their way into Margaret's brain when she is sleeping. A reason, perhaps, for all the ice cream and why she decided she'd better ghost Carl.

***

Stuck between the headboard and mattress, the slipper could whisper more than anyone could guess. Trimmed out in pink-fluff splendor, it no longer scuffed its way through morning duties and was freed, at last, from bearing the onus to tell. 

***

Instead of breaking in his leather boots, Bruce stomped on Cathy's long-held dreams. He much preferred marching to a walk that might lead to conversation. Plus, he loved watching as she twirled that baton.

***

The woman rummaged through her purse for proof that she'd been dumped. Although lipsticks shot their usual smiles, candy wrappers pointed, unused condoms complained, and all the bunched-up tissues begged to be thrown away.

***

They'd begun to age to a piquant flavor but hadn't yet felt the edge of the blade that shredded. The silence between them at dinner thinks that they are dangerously close. 

   

 ***

The Internet reports that 8% of people keep their New Year resolutions. So far, I'm optimistic. Making one has been like opening a new app and running it silently in the background. Or it's the power of an Angel by my side. Holding on to my resolution is like holding hands with the promises of spring. It's a practice that inspires me to be more expectant and curious about the creative process of life, especially when I'm in a bad mood, and to become more trusting.