Let It Be Slow
Created | Updated Jan 18, 2005
As I drew back the curtains and looked across the fields, I felt sure something was different. Yes. There it was, the first road sign I glimpsed since when we departed from the main road. I called for Herman, and the pace slackened mercifully.
Nasty bumps and bruises colored me. It seems that the trail had not been as smooth as the rangers boasted. Jolted by every trench en route from Lucien Manor to the Park, I had tried to distract myself with the landscape.
The view offered little evidence of civilization. The plains waved gentle arches of acceptance as the wheels rushed on its bustling schedule. Sweet scents engulfed the object that traversed its unfathomable lengths… the narrow coach rendered a strange sight for this obsolete path. Yonder was a shimmering pond. I squinted into its cool tranquility and knew a bizarre envy of the bathing ducks. The sun hung high, mocking my tardiness.
Attempting a calm composure was difficult. Sweat rained freely down my cheeks, ruining the paints I applied for what seemed like hours this morning. A wild me who despised the proper makeup was glad. Sensibly I kept my feelings unpublicized when they do not conform to the decorum tune. It would simply not be worth defying society for such a trivial, if tedious, matter.
The whizzing of flying insect grated at my nerves. It was obvious that the mating performance of dusk crickets activated early in this region. The fields seemed possessed with spirited determination to wake the musician Orpheus from his doom.
If only my destiny could be so thwarted. Why must it be me who had to rush to one meaningless appearance after another, smiling constantly, ridiculously polite to people I do not care for, pretending to be joyous?
Do not think farther down that avenue, nor dwell overtly in innocent freedoms without cares or burdens. What was past came to past, all else was futile.
The trees began to loom higher and closer. Their decorated branches brushed at my window and were crunched underfoot. It was soothing to recognize the familiar leaves from my collection. I passed within touching distance of each slender strength or capable girth. These trees are Nature’s magnificence.
The maple was aware of my presence, for suddenly the welcoming breeze conveyed his gift into the open square. The green hand of friendship shone golden under the sun’s steady beam. I shall treasure this always.
Peculiar, is it not? After a while, one becomes accustomed to the traveling songs. The cricket strings were less rankling than some of the ballroom dancing pieces the music master forced upon my virgin ears.
Even the road felt smoother. It still persecuted my aching backside, but not as often. The sun reached the apex, and I the iron road sign.
I must have complained a great deal all the way here. My judgments were justified from the instant they formed. Yet a keen moment of regret grasped me firmly in her tenacious claws. There was sadness shadowing where my very fabric grew alive and engrossed in face of the sensory experiences.
Farewell, the lofty dignities beckoned to a blushing fool. My shortcut was over and I pulled hastily. The curtain folds so only the shadows may realize my spreading shame.
One day, I vowed, I will again. I longed to wallow in the languid pleasures of the road and not having to worry about the signs ever after.
Nasty bumps and bruises colored me. It seems that the trail had not been as smooth as the rangers boasted. Jolted by every trench en route from Lucien Manor to the Park, I had tried to distract myself with the landscape.
The view offered little evidence of civilization. The plains waved gentle arches of acceptance as the wheels rushed on its bustling schedule. Sweet scents engulfed the object that traversed its unfathomable lengths… the narrow coach rendered a strange sight for this obsolete path. Yonder was a shimmering pond. I squinted into its cool tranquility and knew a bizarre envy of the bathing ducks. The sun hung high, mocking my tardiness.
Attempting a calm composure was difficult. Sweat rained freely down my cheeks, ruining the paints I applied for what seemed like hours this morning. A wild me who despised the proper makeup was glad. Sensibly I kept my feelings unpublicized when they do not conform to the decorum tune. It would simply not be worth defying society for such a trivial, if tedious, matter.
The whizzing of flying insect grated at my nerves. It was obvious that the mating performance of dusk crickets activated early in this region. The fields seemed possessed with spirited determination to wake the musician Orpheus from his doom.
If only my destiny could be so thwarted. Why must it be me who had to rush to one meaningless appearance after another, smiling constantly, ridiculously polite to people I do not care for, pretending to be joyous?
Do not think farther down that avenue, nor dwell overtly in innocent freedoms without cares or burdens. What was past came to past, all else was futile.
The trees began to loom higher and closer. Their decorated branches brushed at my window and were crunched underfoot. It was soothing to recognize the familiar leaves from my collection. I passed within touching distance of each slender strength or capable girth. These trees are Nature’s magnificence.
The maple was aware of my presence, for suddenly the welcoming breeze conveyed his gift into the open square. The green hand of friendship shone golden under the sun’s steady beam. I shall treasure this always.
Peculiar, is it not? After a while, one becomes accustomed to the traveling songs. The cricket strings were less rankling than some of the ballroom dancing pieces the music master forced upon my virgin ears.
Even the road felt smoother. It still persecuted my aching backside, but not as often. The sun reached the apex, and I the iron road sign.
I must have complained a great deal all the way here. My judgments were justified from the instant they formed. Yet a keen moment of regret grasped me firmly in her tenacious claws. There was sadness shadowing where my very fabric grew alive and engrossed in face of the sensory experiences.
Farewell, the lofty dignities beckoned to a blushing fool. My shortcut was over and I pulled hastily. The curtain folds so only the shadows may realize my spreading shame.
One day, I vowed, I will again. I longed to wallow in the languid pleasures of the road and not having to worry about the signs ever after.
