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Amidst the Rustling of Paper, Magic
March 5, 2007It's easy to write about moons, stars, and riverbends; to become lost in the contemplation of objects and moments both fragile and beautiful. It's easy to write about beginnings and the wonderful promise present in every morning. Writing, you see, is the easiest way to commit things to memory. The human mind is fickle, but when we write, we teach ourselves recollection. With each stroke of the pen or each forceful thud of finger upon keyboard, we go back deep into ourselves, into the parts that lap up moments and masticate bits and pieces of soul.
How could one say no to that?
So, we write, and when put on paper, each word wriggles and pops, enlivening the quiet spaces of our minds and hearts in an outpouring of some strange but compelling linguistic jazz.
To some, writing is a celebration, to others an exorcism; but no matter what writing does or brings, be it joy or tears, confusion or certainty, there is always that extra second or two, that moment just before the first thought ripens into the first word, when, still and respectful, we hold the magic of moons, stars, riverbends, and all the vastness of possibilities in the palm of our hands.
How could one say no to that?
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tompak… very well said chin..
Posted by meredith at March 6, 2007, 8:30 am