As I shuffle leaves aside on the thorny bush that blocks my view, a rancid smell begins to linger and alarms me.
I have watched myself in this crouching position a thousand times as new mornings reopened old scars, redundant days hauled the pain through my dreams at night, and in the plans forged by the chaos of my meltdown, and there has has been no smell involved.
I look down to discover dog shit smeared all over the bottom of my left boot.
I barely hold back the vomit that is at the bottom of my throat and attempt to clean the waste from my sole with a large leaf from the green plant positioned to the right of the thorny bush. I curse and swear as the leaf breaks apart and the waste stains my hand. The animal that carelessly left his behind will feel what I feel at this moment; soon he will know my pain!
Just as quickly as the resentment for an anonymous target enters my foreground, it dissipates into the cool, night air. I am on a mission.
With dedication to the mission I ignore the smells wafting around me and drudge up the past. How could this have happened to me? Why, out of all the people in the world, was I targeted for blame? Why have I not been recognized for who I am?
All hypothetical stances are stolen when I let off the pressure holding the leaves aside and the thorny bush loudly reacts to my leather coat, forcing me to my stomach. My eyes scan the immediate surroundings and my fears wait for fulfillment as I lie helplessly in the well-manicured garden.
Where is the man I have built myself to be for so many years? Who am I without my trademarked confidence? I am nothing.
With the blanket of darkness I am secure and being to return to my crouching position, but my knees fall weak and my mouth dries as a dim lamp stripping me of my protection and jeopardizing the mission halts me. I pull my wool cap tightly over my ears and scramble to justify my actions.
Without any retrospection, I hit the dirt once more and begin to crawl. I crawl as if D-Day is upon me and I am on the front lines in Normandy. I hear cannons fire and dodge a mortar as I round the corner and slither past the storm drain. I think I am safe.
My blood shot eyes Now gaze in to a window no bigger than a torso and a dark hatred brews for the lamp that diverted my strategy. Will I always be segregated, exiled to the darkness? Why does warmth contradict my natural feelings?
No longer do I question causes and effects as my left arm commands its hand to carefully slide a pair of gloves out of my back pocket. I employ my left hand to grip the base of the opposite glove and pull it down swiftly, tightly masking the identity of my right hand.
Possibilities overflow my mind and I tossle with rationalizations and excuses. Scenarios play out in front of me and I embellish in an anger sparked by a complacent life. The entire story illustrates itself, penned by the author of my doubts and fears.
I filter through the madness and Now realize that I am attached to the identity of my past and overwhelmed by premonitions of a future.
My left hand, extended and ready to be sheathed, still has the remnance of waste smeared on it. Before I could jerk back in a maneuver to dodge the smell, I notice its absence and I am frozen.
As if reactionary, the summer's night breeze thaws the pause by carrying the scent of my mother's warm embrace. My breath increases its depth, slowing to gather the comfort. I feel eased as the wildflowers' dance flows through the night air, spinning and swaying around me. A warm light frames her face in the halls of my mind. I am at home.
The breeze is also orchestrating rhythms in the aged Magnolia trees and Now a sudden gust puts their harmonies center stage. The broad leaves rustle against each other, dryly tapping and scrapping in sync with the thuds of falling buds. The maestro slows the metronome to a light sooth shortly after and the music in the trees allows pass to a crescendo in a song played for thousands of years.
Cicadas, grasshoppers, bullfrogs, and the design of a spontaneous unknown tone all harmonize in perfect pitch and tempo. The symphony of melodies humbles me with a powerful serenade and I am both reassured and amusingly pleased.
Moved by this tingle of remembered warmth, I feel readiness to pick up my right foot and head forward. I succumb to the urge and a youthful excitement nudges me, pulls me, encourages me to harness this kinetic energy and take the first step. My movements blend with the Life around me and the vague guidance, although faceless and distant, hugs my insecurities and steers my voyage.
My thoughts fire the starting gun as I lift my right leg. Running, sprinting, racing towards the front, a familiar and harsh commentator bellows obscenities laced with doubts and desperate comparisons. My right foot falls from the air, shot down by the insurgent, and a sharp "CRRRUUUNNNCCHHH!" bounces off the surface of each and every possible thing. It echoes throughout the night as an unwanted guest.
I am choked back into reality and nervously look around. I pat myself as if looking for defaults and, with some hesitance, use my bare left hand to slowly take off the right glove still holding its opposite. I look back at the window I considered to be the gateway to the answers of the questions agonizing my heart and the betrayal of the lamp's light is gone, registering and storing itself for future tormenting.
Where am I going? How am I going to get there? Was the flash of goodness only temporary?
My chin is resting on my right shoulder and my eyes are fixated on the window. I am manikin, glued in stationary movement. I quietly yearn for the connection I felt just moments ago and my chest constricts, caving in to fill the void, undoubtedly.
I follow the speed of the insects' instruments and glide the gloves I've been gripping, ever so tightly, back into my pocket. The breeze seems apprehensive, but reenergizes as my focus is directed at its contribution. Wildflowers, honeysuckles, master musicians, and their willingness to give catalyze my freshly cleaned potential.
Now the winds entice my awareness upward and I look to notice clouds parting, showcasing the glory of a full moon. The largest of the clouds is last to sluggishly sail away and I discover Beauty in the decorations the night sky as given me. To my right and about 50 yards away, an aged stump gleams in the moonlight and I zoom in on it. It invites my tribulations and I feel it is the perfect place to rest my heavy heart.
I walk lightly to it, feeling as though I am shedding the weight of my burdens with each step. My jacket feels unnaturally heavy so I remove it half way through my journey, exposing my bare chest, and place it wherever. I soar over the last few feet that separate my stump and me and already have redefined my alignment with time. I relinquish all that I thought had kept me up and eagerly fall onto the stump.
I am washed, renewed, and aware.
Within seconds after sitting, I feel my boots strangling my feet and increasing their pressure with each passing moment. They do not serve me any longer so I untie the strings and remove them both, releasing my feet from their iron bars and returning them to flight. My heels touch the ground as a team and feel at home amongst the scattered foliage. I wiggle my toes like a child and feel an innocent joy when the texture of the grass tickles my skin and the dew washes the miles away. A breath that touches my waste ensues.
The summer's night breeze grazes my skin again and the whispers of the wise Magnolia trees invite me to give them their due. I look to extend a grateful smile and watch as the clouds drift from behind the shadows of leaves. Sparsely packed clouds are positioning themselves over the harmoniously bright moon and strategically blanketing the stories in the stars. I am in darkness.
My hands are Now resting on my knees, my heartache on my newly found stump, and my bare feet intertwined with the beginnings and ends of nature. I breathe naturally and, although I see nothing, I turn my head upward and wait.