the lost man chronicles
the insight in the middle .50
I went for a walk in the woods today. And after veering off the beaten path I came upon a tree that languidly said, "look at me, but don't get too close." It was neither a boast of braggart talking, but simply the epiphany seen in the flickering of her fingers.
As usual, the assortment of Fall color was beguiling, but there was something slightly different about her leaves this time around—for it appeared to me that a splendid pattern abound.
And thus i found myself, willing for once to take the middle ground. Most of the time my environment is made up of a blur of well known objects: trees, grass, path, people, sky, fly, squirrels and girls. At other times, I tend to look real close, due to a precocious curiosity and an earnest attempt to appreciate the little things.
Thus, it was wonderful to realize a purview that lie in between (the two). All the wild plants were sprouting sprinkles of tiny flowers and clusters of mini violet and white buds. I found groups of them that were visually splendid. Picking several small sprigs over the next hour, I placed and flattened them in my notebook. And although I was not sure if they would immediately serve a purpose, I was confident that eventually they would, and perhaps, that they might allow me to delight someone with my creative spirit as well.
For now though, I was quite pleased with the realization I had seized that day—there is a magnificent way that resides between the forest and the leaves. Everywhere I walked I saw new patterns of gorgeous earthy color. I felt as if I were promenading through a wallpaper dream.
As an aside, one of the most fruitful twigs I collected came from a bush of black wild berries. Spontaneously, I snapped off a tiny branch and picked off about a dozen of the pudgy peas and smashed them in my notebook. Initially, the results were beautiful blotches, but then when I tried to clean off the residual flesh, the designs on the page turned from sensuous splotches of dark purple to a patternless mess.
I decided that is was less important to attempt to retain the outline than to extract the regal color. Thus, I smeared what was already smashed further with my fingers, painting the entire page with this divine hue fit for a king.
I happened to have a small plastic bag with me which I had carried some graham crackers in, and thus I decided then and there to tear off several handfuls of berries to fill the sack. My trove would later be used to make a pint's worth of paint. And eventually, I converted some burnt wooden matchsticks into quills, and ended up outlining some ornamental patterns of the leaves and twigs I had found upon letters I would later write with my makeshift pen and ink.
death of a salesman .49 51. the microcosmos