I guess it's something in the way I see the world now. Where before I only saw a tree, I now see a living being that was there before me and will, likely, be there when I'm gone. I wonder what it would say if it could talk, the stories it could tell. I agree with something Edward Abbey said about a juniper. He said that you could write a whole book about a juniper tree. Not the species itself, but about just one tree. Not sure if this makes sense, but it does to me. 

I also think that my love of nature has aided me in becoming a more caring and accepting person in general. While I still have a way to go, there is something inspiring to me about the solemnity of a mountian, the giggling burble of a country stream, or the soft whisper of wind in the trees. They make me think of how much things change, and yet stay the same. And how we can can get through it all. Persevere.

For example, we pollute the world with all kinds of filth. Yet the mountain still stands; only a microcosm of cataclysm, such as high explosives, can really make them move. That, or a millennium of wind and rain; more than any of us will see in our short time here. And even though we put things into the water that should make the earth weep, the brook still babbles, the stream still giggles; and in time, it WILL clean itself. Even if we managed to kill off our entire race, the natural world would recover and thrive again. It would take time, sure. But it would do it. It's something we can't truly fathom, only allude to. 

And where do I fit in with all of this? Who am I to suppose that I can make any sort of impact? I look at those beautiful mountains, let those streams cool and tickle my toes, and listen to the murmur of the leaves. They don't make an impact on everyone, but they do make an impact. They do make a difference. 

Seeing this helps me realize that I don't have to fit in. I don't have to make an impact. I just have to be me, and love everything that that entails. That by simply being I can, to some place or someone, make a difference. I may never meet this person, or I may only interact with them in passing. I may never know. But I don't need to. 

Me

She said she loved me and my bold dreams
And how I looked at life like it was more than it seems
She loved the ways that my heart was loving and kind
The way that I tried to keep the good things in mind.

She said she loved how much help I tried to give
And how I went out of my way to make it easy for folks to live
And how for strangers there was always a smile on my face
But then she said that something just seemed out of place.

She said that I did all those things for everyone
But not for her, and that I wasn't the one.
She said that she loved me, and yeah, I know it was true
But "You give your heart to them, and I get none of that from you."

And then we were through.

It wasnt you

Tonight i saw you, Anne. But it wasnt you. From across the room it seemed like you were here, though you were thousands of miles away.

Her hair looked like yours used to. Her gestures matched up and she seemed to laugh with the same mirth that you used to laugh with.

Before me. Before I ruined everything.

She even wore a dress like one you used to have. Red. Cute.

And then she came closer.

Not even close. Her looks paled to yours. Her smile had no pop. Her face, though pretty, didnt hold a candle to yours.

A let down. An understatement.

I dont know why i try to kid myself. I dont know why i bother. With anything. With me.

I suppose i do it because you would have wanted it that way. Lord knows i let you down enough. I failed you. Us.

I sometimes wish I'd never met you, Anne. I wish I'd never looked into your eyes. Never saw your beautiful smile.

Wish in one hand...

I know that i was wrong for you. It wasnt you (though you shouldered the blame often). It was me.

It was always me. Always my fault. Always letting you down.

I'm sorry for that. I wish i could make it up to you.

I dont think i can.

How dare i have professed my love for you and then failed. How dare i have set such lofty goals and then given up.

How dare i walk this earth after my disgrace.

I wont live forever. But i will hold to my shame and remember my failure until the day i die. Until the day my body catches up to my soul.

No one can replace you. And no girl that i meet out on the town can compare.

I had you for a spell. I'll let that be enough.

I love you, Anne. You and no other. I always did. And I'm sorry i wasnt able to live up to that.

Escape

Escape

I've escaped into the silence
And no one follows me.
For deep inside the cold, cold earth
Is where I rest, you see.
So thank you dear
For all your love
I was your favorite, you were my best
And it's over now for me my dear
I've been ruined for the rest.

Just something that made me think

Not a story or anything here. Just thought it was interesting because today I ran a Google Images search on my name (yeah, I'm one of those people). I was in for a pleasant surprise.

When I run a search on my name, I typically use "Warren P Abbott". This time, however, I used just "Warren Abbott". Interestingly enough, my picture was there. Even more interesting was who was pictured next to me.

My Grandfather, also Warren was there, smiling. I can't recall off-hand which of us was higher up on the search listing, nor do I care. I just think it was neat because lately I've felt like I needed something like that.

I'm doing alright, but I could be doing much better. I feel like nothing is right, but that's just the chemical imbalance, I reckon. When I take the time to take stock of what is happening in my life and what I have, I know I'm doing pretty well.

Still, I could do with out some of the thoughts that have been running through my head. I could have done with out a lot of things in my life.

Worship

Alex entered Jack's small apartment. He'd been worried about his old friend and wanted to check on him. He wasn't there.

On the table near the window there was an ashtray filled with partially smoked cigarettes. A half-cup of coffee was next to it, a ring stained on the ceramic told him that it had been there for some time. But neither of these were what interested him.

Because on the table, laying open, was a journal. Jack often left notes for Alex and had done so now.

Alex sat down in the chair, picked up a half-smoke cigarette, lit it up and began to read.

I'm wondering what I'm doing anymore. As I write this the question comes once again - why am I still alive? What is my purpose?

I continue to aid others. Yet, the old phrase, "physician, heal thyself" is ever present. What has become of me and what am I to do when I am confronted with the emptiness that is me?

When a glass is half empty you can fill it with water. But what can fill a lingering emptiness such as mine? Thoughts, words or deeds?

All are insufficient. All of it is falling short.

I can only hope that my birth has a purpose. Perhaps someday my offspring will do something that will make an impact. Something that I can not.

Perhaps that is my only reason for being. The reason God chose to let a flat-line infant have a pulse once again. Perhaps that is why, though uncertain of any grand plan, i carry on.

Perhaps God was wrong about me. Anne was, and I worshiped her.

The note ended there. Alex finished the cigarette, exhaling the last of it as he spoke. "Oh, Jack. What am I going to do with you?"

He tore the note from the journal, crumpled it up. He stood, mentally exhausted, and walked out of the apartment, tossing the note into a dumpster as he passed by.

He would have to be more vigilant now. Jack was getting worse.

Camping

Jack stared at the blank sheet. His mind began to drift. Memories swirled, and the pen seemed to write of its own accord.


I've never slept in this tent without her. Not once.
It was always cozy, her snuggled up against me. My arms wrapped around her. One hand resting on a hip, the other enfolding her, caressing her shoulder.
Sometimes I would kiss her neck while running my thumb over the little mole on the back of her arm. Breathing in the scent of her hair. Absorbing the warmth that radiated from her soft skin.
My heart aches now at how large and empty this tent feels. It may as well be a warehouse.
It stores nothing but memories.

Jack put down the pen. His vacant eyes took in the 9x7 enclosure. It felt like his heart would stop. Or perhaps he only wished it would.
He sigh a shuddering breath as he stared at the spot where she would have slept, cold now that she was no longer there.
"I need to buy a new tent," he sighed.