Standing as a tree. Wavering and bending while a gale force wind rubs my back.
My life behind me: The fibrous history of traumas and tribulations wrapping me like a blanket. Ribbons and scarves remaining trapped between my solid form and the breeze.
Memories. Actions. Piling up like sticks caught in a dam.
Thoughts. Regrets. Teasing threads dancing in the wind.
My past isn’t shifting, even when the air stream changes direction.
It is an interesting visual dilemma. Something Salvador Dali would create:
Am I crawling out from a funnel of collected tatters?
Or am I standing tall to life’s experiences that continually batter?
Regardless, this tug-o-war has me exhausted (yet I am still standing).
When death comes nigh, I will crumble. I will lay down upon this earth which bore me.
Only then will the remnants and patches of my life find passage – and blow away like dust in the wind.
Sketch of what will be “melancholy.”
Debbie Van Dyke, artist and occasional writer