Davin makes his way around the yard and after twenty minutes or so he moves into the patio area. There he sits himself at a small wooden table with a few random chairs around it, chairs that were given as gifts, all unique in their styles and colors. He reaches over to the table center and slides a cheap, ringed pad of paper and a pen over to himself. Takes off his straw hat with a sigh and tosses it onto the back of a chair and stares at the pad for a moment. His thoughts move casually over images and words that are filling his mind and emotions, they will bicker among each other until they mesh as one and form some strange narrative, but it is Davin who will dictate its final outcome. His beard itches from the heat of the sun and as he scratches at it he opens the pad of paper and starts to flip through the pages of ideas and preliminary paragraphs that have yet to find a place to call home within the concept of a novel.

Davin lifts the pen and sets it onto an empty page, the colors of emotion swirling around his mental palette until the hues and shades are just right, and with gentle strokes he begins to create his image:

Mommy, sweet mother, beautiful woman, vessel of my birth, guiding compassion of my life. What is the journey I choose to seek if not for the influence of your heart and experience before me? I stand so often only to fall, never to reach what it is that I reach for, and unknowing what it is I seek. Yet with the gentle nurture of your words you inspire me to get up and continue on with my unknowing. The unknowing that will become my faith, my hope, and my demon; and then again it could easily turn to become my void of nothing. To which everything that may hold a purpose in my life will be swallowed whole, strung out for all eternity, reminding me over and over again, that my search and all that I may offer this so called world, is but a path with no recollection and no comfort from an empty future filled with the struggles of chaos.

To no end have I scoured the land reaching deep into the human psyche, seeking out that glimpse of what will fill me with awe and wonder, making me acknowledge the greater good that dwells within us all, the miracle that lies dormant awaiting the subtle sprinkles of hope and faith to split the tender seed in two. Yet, as I have said, I usually will wake up on the ground, sit myself up, brush off a bit, and wobble to my feet. I stand there a fool among them that seek nothing beyond the greens of their existence, they look no further than the luxury of fine things to make themselves feel alive; and this world does offer many a fine things for many different perceptions so that none are excluded. In some way we are all lost to this world of tangible realities, and I say “realities” because it has many levels, something for every person to either want and desire, or to want more of.

When and or if, one takes the time to step back, to move away from the small portion of an image that is set before them. There is something else at work here. For some there is that void, no real reason or purpose, just surreal movements as a dance without a song. Every once in awhile however something odd happens, and one begins to see broader strokes across the canvass, detail within the scenes, and even the hand of the artist gently layering the colors of life from the many opulent palette. Rare, tis’ true, for some the view is but a chance, for others a mental disorder that needs to be remedied.

Mother, if not for your hand to pull me from my follies in my youth I would have given up on being a man all together, I would have scoffed at the thought of maturing, thinking it all ends up in the same place, nowhere, and for nothing. Old flesh is not maturing, that is a worldly thing, one of the many the world wants you to cling to, it wants you to obey. Nay, sweet mother, your guidance has shewn me otherwise and the ways to see beyond the earthly eyes and to view that which is beyond the mountains. Because of this loving nurture, I have chosen to grow up and mature into an aging man, but I struggle to abstain from the worldly ways of desire. The wants to live forever, to own money beyond mention, fancy things that make others jealous, to be a person of re-known, that others are filled with envy. The poison is everywhere and seeps ever so gently under the skin and deep within the tissues of mind. It floods the consciousness and in some cases even kills the heart, making it nothing more than a pumping device to keep the machine running smoothly.

These struggles are real enough and to why they are unseen to so many is beyond my comprehension. So much proof of villainous things move through the world on a daily bases in plain sight for all to see. Still the eyes are blinded, the mind is flooded, and the heart is cold, so much so that the Devil himself could walk by and none would know the wiser. They might turn their heads to the sound of laughter, but the truth would still elude them.

Thank you mother for always being there, for being open minded and free spirited enough to let me grow and have understanding of what growing is. Thank you for helping me up and letting me catch my breath and pick a fresh direction in which to make for my next fall; and again you are there, telling me everything is alright, and not to give up. Till finally I spread my wings and take to the air with enough experience to view the heights and to understand that which flows below me. If not for your motherly love, and the exposure of people who have made my life tumultuous and very beautiful, I would not have become the man I am today. I would be the common walking dead, wanting, wanting, and wanting to no end.


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