So, I get this email regarding “good writing”….

It would seem that many of you liked it but, some “at least one” took issue with the example of the bathroom… 🙂

To me that example was perfect in that you have all heard this before or maybe said it, “Find a bathroom that looks clean.”  This is said as you are motoring down the road at some speed at or slightly above posted limits!  That phrase or statement always made me chuckle as in, “how the hell do I know if the bathroom will be acceptable to your standards from this distance at this speed?

If you are guilty of this statement, I promise I am not picking on you…  I actually know what you mean; as men sometimes must sit too…..

I don’t understand however; why some will not lift the seat to pee and instead, pee all over the seat and leave!  It is my fervent wish that all who did or do that have to clean someone else’s pee off of the seat, so they can sit and relieve themselves.

Anyway, enough on my bathroom story.

 

Creative writing is definitely an art form as I have spoken about in the last post on writing.

I mentioned my happy place.

Before I write, I sometimes will find my happy place, and ponder on it for a while.

My Happy Place

Under a huge tree, up on a hill overlooking the countryside, the sun has risen enough to warm the tall grasses and dry the morning dew that dampened my feet a short while ago as I wondered up the hill to greet the sun from its slumber.  The sky is now a cerulean blue, after shifting from its former oranges and yellows; sporting a few wispy clouds, lazily floating by.  A slight breeze caresses my face and carries with it the scent of salt water, from the beach down the hill.

In the distance, there are a few people setting up their blankets and umbrellas, as they prepare to spend the day collecting shells, digging their toes into the sand, and watching the seabirds call out to the wind, in eager anticipation of their next meal.

My morning watching the sunrise has ended, I too seek the company of strangers, as well as the feel of the sand between my toes; and the warm water circling between my legs and eventually immersing my body in its warm embrace.

I watch from a distance the young families building sand castles with their children, remembering with fondness the days of doing the same with mine.  The sand sticks to my feet up to my ankles as I sit on my lounge, peering into the distant waves as they meet the sky. 

A shriek from a young child brings me back to the here and now, as a small crab scuttle’s by the imaginary moat; protecting the castle against all invaders.  While the white winged dragons in the sky see the invader as lunch; they too are afraid to get too close to the giants wearing pink frilly armor. They seem interested in the morsel as well.  The dragons call out to the giants but to no avail, the invader of the castle has been captured and placed into a small vessel, held by the giants for examination.  The giants speak in a language that only they can understand, as it is full of squeals and single syllable utterances that the taller giants seem to understand.

The dragons return to the skies, looking for less protected invaders. The giants quiet down from the excitement. My thoughts once more return to the waves, the clouds dancing above us in a slow waltz, while a ballerina does a slow pirouette in front the spot light, which immediately cools my skin and brings me once again to the here and now.

Looking around, I see more families and others like myself who are there to simply enjoy the beach.  Some come as couples and others by themselves, and of course there are those with stories in paper format to lose their selves into, while allowing the sun to warm parts of them that rarely is seen by the sun, much less others.

Very soon, their openness comforts me, as my attention turns back to act II: the ballerina morphs into a butterfly!  The other dancers on stage also morph into dogs, and rabbits, and even a shark!  The audience calls out to them, as they too perform amazing acts of aerobatics, not be outdone by the vaporous ghost of the sky.

The spotlight is now bright upon me, and the others who have joined me.  The smell of coconuts and other potions punctuates the fluidity of my thoughts.  I decide to lay on my tummy and allow the sun to tan my back for a while, as I drift off into a deep slumber, with the sounds of the ocean, the birds and the children to lull me into another world, where my thoughts are not constrained by anything physical.  The sounds actually guide my imagination to other worlds, occasionally bringing me back to this one, as I take stock of my own lotions, and my growing desire for food as somebody has decided to light a grill.

I too must return to the real world, and it is this grill and the thought of a sizzling parcel of meat that drives me to sober from my thoughts, wipe the now dried sand from my feet, and leave this paradise for other adventures, in other realities.

May you too find your happy place, and revere in its existence.  When in the real world your happy place is always there, look for it.  It might be in the small flowers attached to tiniest of plants, or simply above you; inviting you to take part as they too dance and entertain.

 

 

-Best

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