A Moment in Time

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Everyone has their favorite season. Mine is Spring. I love the ingenious way the Creator designed our world to regenerate, but I believe it’s true what they say: there is nothing new under the sun. In spite of the premise about the continuous circles of life being the same, and that nothing new occurs under the skies of this Earth, each new blade of grass is unique; each new tree is special and different; each new little bird in its nest is like no other bird, it has markings that are unique; and, each new baby is an irreplaceable, exceptional being like no other. As each Spring approaches, and as I age, I like to take the time to watch Spring. It requires taking time to meditate in its realm. It moves swiftly, so I work to catch memories and store them away.

 
I love the coolness of Spring in the morning. Winter hides in the trees, watching from a distance, unwilling to let go of its place in time. It’s like adding just enough cold water to the hot for a refreshing shower. The blue skies of Spring are some of the most brilliant, a Blue Opal, a deepness. The clouds move in a silent march to gather in a storm far away. There I was that morning, I sipped my coffee, smiled, and nestled down into my chair. Such peace. In that same peace was a sense of being overwhelmed with thoughts, a sensory overload—what could I write about?

 
Sometimes I struggle with writer’s block—I hate that phrase, by the way, it seems so cliché—but at other times I feel so overcome with excited thoughts, creative energy, and a desire to reach people with a message, and I can’t quite put my finger on it. It was that kind of day. I needed to wrap myself in it, study it, consume it, embrace it, and hope that I could do it justice when I finally put my hand to the keyboard.

 
I’ve learned by watching my favorite writers that sometimes we need to freeze a moment in time and convey that singular moment to the world. A moment that they would never see or hear about if it weren’t for the writers of the world. I know that I don’t have to travel to a secluded beach on some island that I saw on one of a thousand travel brochures to find beauty, peace, or something worth telling the world about. I can look at the many trees that surround my yard, their colors, and see a small microcosm of splendor. It’s not always the macro, but instead, the micro that displays beauty, wisdom, and truth. It’s through this lens that we can find a huge world on the tip of a flower.

 
The pear tree outside my porch became my focus. Why does time rush by like the raging rivers of a flood? The pear tree had beautiful white blooms that covered it just yesterday…or was it the day before? Now, the blooms lie on the ground creating a soft white carpet under the tree. I felt sad. I love Spring, and yet it goes by so fast. I decided that I would stop, even if Spring wouldn’t. I would take notice before it was gone. I would seek out its colors, its smells, and sounds, and lock them in the safest corner of my mind. Like a lost lover that I can never forget, I will treasure her memories.

 
I will stare at her so that I know every line, every detail, everything about her. How could I have taken her for granted in the past? Spring, you’ve broken my heart so many times before as I watch you in the distance…leaving again. My passion for you grows with each passing year, yet, I know you cannot stay.

 
As I lament her leaving, I hear a lawn mower in the distance. What is it about that sound? The noise of a gas-powered engine roaring through the green carpet of God’s Earth, but, as I sit in my chair the sound of it lulls me toward sleep. As I start to doze, waifs of fresh cut grass encompass me. I fall off the cliff of slumber. I stood close, looking over, and my eyes began to close ever so slightly and slowly until I stepped off. I landed in a spring nap.

Poetry and Short Stories:

  1. Memories of Spring 
  2. Poetry teaches us to be disciplined in our diction

  3. The American Nightmare

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12 comments

  1. Beautiful, Scott! I could see your yard in my mind’s eye. And, feel the coolness. Well, kind of. It’s 95+ here in Houston and we get only a short glimpse of Spring. So, we love it as much as we can while it’s here.

    • Hello, Mary Jo, Texas may be hot, and I’ve been there, but I love Texas, and I love Texans. There is something inherently American about that state and her citizens. Thanks for your comment and your contributions to this blog. 🙂

  2. Good morning, I can just see you now. This was excellent descriptive writing, Scott. And “The Art of Travel” is just as good as you said it was. I am enjoying it.

  3. Wonderful. Living in southern Ontario, it’s also a blessing to experience 4 distinct seasons every year. Hard to choose for me sometimes, but the Fall is at least tied for first. Great post!

    • Hello Mike, Thank you for taking the time to read the post and give your feedback. We like to think of Two Drops of Ink as a sort of “writers’ group” rather than a blog. Our submissions from contributors, our staff writers, and writers like you, all come together here to help one another. Have a great day.

  4. Amazingly written.. beautifully expressed.. I am a nature Admirer myself and have always felt that nature in its many forms is a big inspiration for creativity, be it writing, or any other form. And you reminded me of another bitter truth of this world.. that nothing lasts forever.. very well written..

    • Bhagyashree, Thank you for the kind and complimentary words about this piece. I too love nature and the outdoors. Believe it or not, the inspiration for this piece came from reading “The Art of Travel” by Alain de Botton, a great book that is more about life, philosophy, and art than it is about travel. Botton can take a moment in time and make you relish it with his descriptiveness.

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