Through a Darkened Pane (page 20)

compound complex

Thanks, Snowbird!

I can fairly smell it! Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh ...

C of C

In a phlegmatic, lumbering slow motion, I vacate a toss-and-turned upon bed. It is not a departure marked by an old man's grump but a quiet resignation: slumber is elusive and her standoff is better ignored than pondered. Prepared in advance of actual need (a daily ritual in this household), Grandma's old Toastmaster percolator gets herself switched on. An industrious old lady, the brew-maker goes dutifully to work with water and special grind to keep me buzzed through the wee small hours of the morn. I'm up anyway. There's little chance I'll be hitting the sack anytime soon.

I'm putting pen to parchment by candle light. The power is not out. No, but it seems more my need to become one with an unnamed interior atmospheric condition that could not bear the harsh, evaporating scrutiny of 100-watts incandescent. My visions have become an interwoven part of my daytime reality. Though they would easily be construed as dreams of the subconscious mind (when true sleep has been enjoined upon the willing, captive soul), the bright sun of a daytime's normalcy declares otherwise.

Though candle light is difficult to write by, it is nonetheless soothing.

musky

Hello CoCo,

There is something about relying on candle light that changes moods and atmospheres, to no small degree.

Well, whether by candle light,incandescent,fluorescent, or sunlight, It's still good to read your posts.

Take care, CoCo

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Good evening, Musky:

Just downed a cuppa and plan a few more through a long night.

Yeah, right on about the change of mood and atmosphere. What I wrote was all my last hour's experience of thoughts and actions. I wake, sleep, wake, sleep throughout the 24-hour day. Last night was one of my rare sleep-through-the-entire-night episodes. I was napping earlier and simply had to get up and put "ink to parchment."

Too weird - typing away at an electric-powered pc by candle light ...

Good chatting, my friend. I hope that you and yours are well. Your daily posts keep me going and motivated.

Gratefully,

CoCo

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Like a mischievous sprite, a small but robust draft of arctic chill sweeps in at my feet and wraps its freezing tendrils about my legs.

Because of this bewildering rush upon my shuddering person, there is no opportunity to gather my thoughts - what, dear Lord, is happening? This irresistible, foreign growth climbs further, reaching and encasing my trunk. Dagger-like probes bore through me - I scream, but there is no sound - and penetrate, all but arresting my fragile respiratory system. Mercifully, I am spared total shutdown of my lungs.

The candle upon my desk, to my right and melted down to a nub, extinguishes immediately. Haven't I closed the windows, certainly the entry door, tight against the bitter cold of autumn's closing chapter? Unable to move in the slightest, I, nevertheless, can see about me. This unknown and malignant entity wills that I keep my senses. I can see - ahead and on the periphery. My hearing is unimpaired. Terror rises unabated and dislodges my heart and forces it full into my throat, screaming now impossible. I choke ... burning tears flow down my frozen cheeks. There is no thaw.

The extinguished candle, of a sudden, ignites, and I see what has long been hidden from me.

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landscape

Long was I silent as no words could describe where I had been.

None asked about my absence because my escape went unnoticed.

Into a world familiar yet not I found refuge from him, from them, from it.

Since no words from my glib tongue fell nor from my fluid pen did they flow,

I knew only of one means more: that of an artist's brush and knife upon a canvas.

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Greetings, Friends:

May your day be free of pane ...

Love,

CoCo

snowbird

Morning, CoCo.

One of my grandmothers used to say of my mischievous cousin, "That boy is a pain, and I don't mean the kind you find in a window!"

I miss my people.

Sylvia

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I miss my people.

Sylvia

Good morning, dear snowbird.

I relate as I am in the autumn of life and cannot thank my long-deceased parents, aunts, uncles, grandparents, as well as many generous friends, for contributing to who I am. I inhabit my stories with them, however, and that is my small tribute to them.

Have a great day.

CoCo

Through a Darkened Pane

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