What good would it do him, to learn what wars rage inside me? How could I help his situation by adding ballast to an old patchwork balloon? He's been trying to reach the stars, stretching up his fingers and scraping heaven with his thoughts, but all this time he hasn't grown a single inch closer. I tried to listen to his stories, tried to reason with his thoughts, but couldn't make him out above the explosive silence of the place he stood.
I take solace in this fact: when his core wood finally does collapse and suddenly his heart then snaps and the noise brings what his corpse attracts, he'll have accomplished exactly what he's worked for all these years. While he patiently stretched up to the sky or waited for it to come to him, he's stood among the reflected heavens all this time.
I appreciate that you're so poetic about it. My first thought probably would have been, why is this pole for electric wires out here surrounded by water? is it flooded? (I tend to overthink things, I think.)
ReplyDeleteIt is poignant, what you've written.
This is an old strip mine near our home that the state flooded and turned into a park. So the old mining company ran the wires through and then just left them. There's an old railroad bridge nearby that has no rails running to or from it anymore.
ReplyDeleteAh. That makes sense. Sounds like a great place for melancholy moments and visitations of the 'ghost' of places past.
ReplyDeleteThat, and the whole ruins thing makes me think of the Romantics.