Il sentiero

New kid on the block

Povertà e Ricchezza

Passeggiando nel bosco, ma bosco vero, una foresta senza capo nè coda, dove è molto facile perdersi, le foglie si rompono ad ogni passo. In questo novembre di pioggia e tempeste, l’unico posto asciutto sembra essere questo qua. Tutto attorno regna il silenzio, non si sentono neanche gli uccelli cantare eccetto qualche verso che si sente ogni tanto provenire da posti non ben specificati.

Tutto questo rende la camminata più avvincente. Il mistero e il silenzio piacciono, l’aria è ben fresca ma non fredda. Il vento scompiglia i capelli, si insinua nei sensi, quelli veri e puri, primitivi.

Il sentiero raggiunge una collina che domina una lunga serie di colline, colline che arrivano all’infinito, in tutti i quattro punti cardinali. Il sentiero che poi scende, verso il fitto bosco e raggiunge un’altra collina. Ma il giorno si fa presto oscuro, in questa stagione tardo autunnale.

Guardo lontano, a cercare la…

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About Nan Mykel

I used to think I would be a child prodigy, but then I got old. Formerly I had fantasies of rubbing elbows with cultural and academic leaders but that did not come to pass because I did not become a cultural or academic leader or any other kind of leader, for that matter. I am not even an "Alpha Dog," a term learned from a friend who had to become "Alpha Dog" in order to influence her own pet. (When gazes lock, she never looks away.) For years I expected to become a published author, but in passing I could not avoid the fact that I had little to contribute to the world's bulging dumpsters. I'm embarrassed to report that I also considered my primary process artistic productions powerful, rather than mildly neurotic. Which is not to say that I disrespect myself, only that I am beginning to doubt my potential for making a mark on the world. If I focus on strict self discipline I may be able to keep my garbage removed on a weekly basis, to keep the kitty box changed, the clothes cleaned, the dog watered, fed and walked, but that just catches me up to the starting mark again. When writing I physically grapple with words, wrestling them from their indifference into attempted chunks of awareness. I sit heavily on my chair; I breathe in artificially cooled air; my ear drums note the tap tap of the keyboard and the steady uninterrupted sound of the air conditioner, What is that sound? The roar of the ocean from 30 yards away...Inside, my thoughts are are balls in an electronic game machine, bouncing hither and yon from lever to lever. I am a little grim and intent until I recall a dream related by a black man in the prison where I once worked. He said that when he was a small boy, back home, he dreamed he was standing on his front porch pissing, and that he suddenly found himself pissing stars...
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1 Response to Il sentiero

  1. Rivera says:

    Molto bello .. Mi è piaciuto molto. 🙂
    Thank you for sharing.


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