My current habitation is not my home, yet its many doors have been locked against my departure.
No longer within four wooden walls of plain aspect and diminutive size, I am lost in an infinite
architectural spread that reaches toward earth's four points, an edifice possessing three levels
of magnificent scale that demand I should walk, climb, explore every one of thousands of
hidden nooks and crannies.
I am compelled to do this but find no joy in discovery.
I want to go back, go back to the simplicity of my earlier life.
I cannot.
It is becoming dark out of doors, a slinking, watery sun having limped its pathetic course
through the closing chapter of a gloomy and damp spring day. Its brief, craven appearance
has created more shadow than illumination, and this has tended toward my unease, prompting
me to turn on each light of every room on all floors. I am alone - sometimes it is all right to be alone -
but not at this time.
This dwelling space of loss and loneliness holds me captive and I want only to walk out the door and go home.
I am stopped as hand furtively touches handle.
Held captive; no escape.
Andrew J. Vincent