Tuesday, November 20, 2007

• Word Clouds Gathering

   

   Like a dry Oklahoma field needs rain, I need words.  I need to soak in books, swim through libraries.  I need to set my pen to the page and flush out the tap in a torrent of words, to stand in a word-storm and feel the cold icy wind cut right through to my heart, whipping my hair about my face and pelting me with sleet like phrases. 

   

  I need to stand silently in a stream of words, shivering in the cold night air, and then gather them up in a blanket wrapped around my shoulders.  I need to sit on the hearth of a crackling fire, and slowly, slowly let the heat soak in through my skin, while I sort the words, sift through the phrases and let the stories spill out across the page.

   

  I need words to rain down upon my dry, parched soul, to blow through my mind and filter through my fingers, to line up on a page and tell their story out loud, echoing through my body, my mind. 

   

  Sometimes, life is dry, barren and oppressive.  But even then, I know the clouds are gathering.  The pressure is building.  The storm will come and pour down a rain of words on me again.  Thirsting is never terminal, never a sentence of silence, death. Thirst always comes to prepare me so that I am thankful when the first word-drops sprinkle across the dusty ground and my heart whispers into the wind, “Let it rain, let it rain.”

   

  

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