Wednesday, April 29, 2015

whitewash light and hard black coffee

It began with a long sigh and a slow slide out of bed. Weighted lids, half closed, squinted out the familiar frame of the bathroom door. Morning evacuations and ablutions were performed in ritualistic and habitual course. Ground seeds were mixed with not quite boiling water and a pinch of salt. He quaffed the pungent result with tired satisfaction and sat down before a blinking green light.

A wide screen sprang to dull life against the superior white light of a yellow star quite some distance away. He sipped his thick coffee and tapped rapidly on a well-worn keyboard.

The day would soon suffer past his patience with demands and some small acquiescence against his own misgivings. He would submit. He would half live for unimportant luxuries and an illusion of safety.

However, these brief moments in the whitewash of morning light sang enough of creation’s wild spark to burn him through to another day. One day, perhaps, it would be done. One day – he could dream – his art could earn his living.

No comments:

Post a Comment