Here I sit.

Here I sit, on the edge of a deck built by hands much stronger than mine. Nature’s crickets providing white noise mixed with the gentle rain from a sprinkler brought about by a summer filled with heat and little rain. The flames of the fire in front of me jump with a purpose that they themselves do not understand let alone a common observer. The firelight creates a soft red glow on the immediate world in front of me slowly dimming as it goes, letting my memory and imagination fill in the details of a world lost to darkness. The warmth of the fire seems to drown in the warmth of the late summer night.

Here I sit, my mind racing, like it is afraid if it holds on to a thought to long it might remember something it wants to forget. Thoughts of work, family, and goals scatter like roaches exposed suddenly to a bright light, seemingly random, but exquisitely perfect, always returning to the dark.

Here I sit, the same voice saying the same things, the same promises made. Tom Wait’s “Ol’ 55” starts to play softly in the background and causes me to take pause. Funny, some songs resonate deeply, music… a chance to let the soul shine. Feels like he is singing my thoughts, or at least he helps my thoughts flow more smoothly.

Here I sit, Jake is working busily on the pile of stick awaiting their fate in the fire. He carefully sorts through them picking just the perfect one, and then he proceeds to chew it into splinters.

He and I spent much of the evening walking the local railroad track. It was liberating, tracks without a noticeable end, your only goal is to walk, no need to think about a destination you have already found it. No due dates, no need for putting on a façade, the tracks do not expect anything. So, we walked.

Here I sit…