My foot pressed against the pedal driving south. When did adulthood inhabit me? My glance into the rear-view mirror is a glance into the past. I sat in the back row, leaning against the door, quiet breath expanding me just noticeable, if not to the obscure passing of nature’s gestures outside my window, then at least to mom and dad.<\/p>\n
In the skip of time, I happily watch the rock’s jerking hops on the lake’s surface, sending drops like splinters sprawling. Each hop expelling a year’s energy until finally one day the rock will rest and so will I. Having progressed to the front I scan the road ahead of me. I’m a seasoned driver now. My hands guide the wheel; the rugged leather’s touch to my fingers. What smiling father once sat in my seat observing his sleeping son?<\/p>\n
Youth carries its pains. It seems to me such a quick succesion of cumulated experiences and learning. I think now the years themselves lose track of the developing babe through childhood and into adolescence. Should they decide to pause their incessant striving out of the seed’s core, they might capture the lark’s song, the breaking of a voice urging the onset of adulthood into the youthful soul. The same outtake would reveal the infused minds of children with expectations and measures they and others have imposed upon them. In truth there is no pause. The push towards growth is unstoppable: A mad rush to maturity driven by the idea of overcoming society’s fabricated restrictions. And then, as we settle into being adults, we roll down our windows and long to guide our hands through the forceful headwinds of a speeding car, mimicking the arrival and departure of airplanes.<\/p>\n
Slipping into the contours of age I stop and step out. The hood of the car breathing off the remnants of the motor’s heat in sync with my own quietening. I am an observer in this day and float my smile around my transformation. I meet my parents in wordless understanding. What treasure this understanding, this silent recognition, this clasping of time and youth in furious passing. What riches lie in the brief, brief touches of rock on water just before each subsequent leap? What dreamlike multitude at the final skip dipping low, never to resurface. What plain golden heart beating through the womb, the toddler, the child, the teen, in its shadows already carrying the elderly, the grey, the dying. Who goes there? Every human, every rock, every glance in the mirror.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
My foot pressed against the pedal driving south. When did adulthood inhabit me? My glance into the rear-view mirror is a glance into the past. I sat in the back row, leaning against the door, quiet breath expanding me just noticeable, if not to the obscure passing of nature’s gestures outside my window, then at least to mom and dad. In the skip of time, I happily watch the rock’s jerking hops on the lake’s surface, sending drops like splinters sprawling. Each hop expelling a year’s energy until finally one day the rock will rest and so will I. Having progressed to the front I scan the road ahead of … Skipping time<\/span> weiterlesen