Join the new world

“..The sight had never looked more beautiful.”

I thought, curling my fingers around the glass of Remy Martin in a tepid fit. There had not been a single day that I would let go of the pure rush and relaxation which drink would gift upon my soul. At least, not since I was able to finally afford it in the Ides of this year. Yet, the numbingly divine was soured in the tastes of uncertainty. Confusion about my own self, and the world around me, left much of those harnessed ambitions glide about freely in the night air… To my dismay, reminiscent of the sound in which motors and gears shifted inside the intestine of the tanks I held proximity to on many occasions.

The lack of dust on my vest had me yearn for that battered feeling again. Though the vigil was silent, the Spring air thawed the core of my iciest intentions… Even the Lieutenant was stirred in a manner befit only for a scientist to a caged monkey.

“..Damn it, Holt. You know you’re not a killer. You’re a writer.” I muttered, sipping from the edge of the glass as if having walked a thousand years through a desert without a single drop of water.

Before one hand could safely assume that the bottom had reached the pine of the desk, all of the neglected desperation called out for an immediate distraction to deal with the composition of the apparent mood swings inflicted upon me; the opposite of which darted straight for the stack of Federalist pamphlets and articles as a remedy in the grayish-blue morning haze outside… encroaching ever so slightly onto my porch, as to knock at the door and greet me.

I pushed Remy away, fearing that I would not greet this old friend on the best of behaviors.

Without a moment to spare, the dive into the pool of papers automatically granted a deal of satisfaction. My pen had been unused for a matter of months, and with the inkwell dried to nearly flake, a sense of this mythical “Zen” enveloped the inner confines of my mind… my own mechanical intellect ignited, while taking up a schedule to check the porch doors and evaluate just how much of my sanity would stick to me as the light of the sun would stick to the walls in my study.

After the eighth or ninth read in, I set the stack alongside my moonlight companion and took a deep breath in absolute exhaustion. What more could have made the morning so pristine and enchanting? There was never the need to drag unwanted soil into the garden, no matter how honorable and heroic the work may be. While coming to realize that, the yard was looking dingy as I stood up from my chair and strolled over to the porch doors. What man has not longed to return home after spending weeks hunting for adventure and thrills?

“…Still. The sight had never looked more beautiful.” I thought, in admiration for the majestic luminescence of the colors resonating off the top of my backyard garden hedges.


~ B. Holt