Another post? Ah, why not?

Tell Me a Story

The sun shines today. It is December the twenty ninth. Between Christmas and the new year. That brings next year very close. Three days from now next year will be far away. Time measurements have sort of a wackiness about them.

The sun shines today. The day before yesterday it rained. It rained on mountains of snow. For days and days people have been digging out. Snowplows too struggled with the loads. The rain did a faster, more efficient job, Turned roads and walks into rivers. Shrunk the mountains to ground level.

The sun shines today. Most places one can walk now without fear of slipping on ice. Most sidewalks are bare. They dried enough before the weather changed to light freezing.
The sun shines today and it feels like spring. You almost expect little sprouts to appear in the soil. Flower beginnings. But you know better. It is still December. A long way off to April.
The sun shines today, but yesterday, while still raining, the wind blew with a vengeance. The outside was a dance floor for empty garbage cans, and hard to identify litter. The wind arranged its own band, clinging and clattering anything loose around. Even things not so lose were torn away and sent in the air, or crashed to the ground. The wind was having a ball, singing and whistling in tune with the sounds of destruction.

But the sun shines today. The temperature is mild. Here at home my windows and doors are open, letting in lots of fresh air.

How many stories are hidden in the above, trillions? One could follow the path of someone who slipped on ice and broke a limb. One can enter the emergency with this person. Could be an adult. Could be a child. There are nurses, there are doctors, there is a waiting room full of patients with all their own stories, making new ones.

Someone else could have been caught in the flood waters. Didn't make it. Stopped breathing. Devastated family and friends. Ambulance attendants. News reporters. Onlookers. One of them goes home and tells the story. A listener knew the person that drowned. The story calls up unbearable memories causing a nervous breakdown. Councilors or a psychiatrist enter the scene.

Someone, an elderly someone, could live alone, not having anyone to share Christmas with. Sits by the window in a rocker. Watches the strange weather. Thinks back to Christmas' past, live stories in the inner mind. Picks up a pen and writes, recreating memories.

A little girl is out in the yard. The sun shines today. She opens a gate and enters a summer garden, leaving white winter behind. A bunny, walking up straight, meets her, takes her by the hand, and they follow a path surrounded by flowers and butterflies, up to where? Maybe a fairy castle and a prince.

A cat jumps in through an open window. Meets the family dog. Dog barks. Cat runs. Dog runs after it. Wild chase. Cat jumps on the piano. Runs some scales. Throws over some statues, a plant crashes to the floor. Dog barks, cat squeals, footsteps sounding, upset homeowners enter the scene. Who are they, where do they come from, do they support World Wildlife, do they like animals unconditionally, do they hate cats, is it their dog, are they just dog sitting?

The sun shines today. I looked at my empty screen and wrote six paragraphs about time and weather. I imagined about all the hidden stories in those six simple paragraphs. So many to chose from. Endless, endless stories. On this sunshiny day I agree with author Michael Ende who sees life as a Never Ending Story, even though there is an ende to his name.

wild thing