Sunday, 22 February 2015


It was gnarled. Gnarled and old. Of course, that was to be expected of a tree that shaded such an immense area. The hum that emanated from its lengthy branches was almost entirely due to the wildlife contained within, and had little to do with the passing of the wind. Squirrels scampered from branch to branch, seeking out nuts and carefully avoiding the few beehives that hung here and there. The buzzing insects shared the tree with all manner of other bugs, ants being chief among them, though they had most to fear from the hundreds of birds that nested happily in the warm foliage.

An eagle soared high above the tree, while rodents and other small game pelted for cover. Deer grazed quietly nearby, wandering between a small stream that sparkled in the hot mid-afternoon sun and the shade of the great tree, trying to keep cool.

It was perfect, I marveled as I lay on my belly in the tall grass, holding the weapon extended before me. That's why she would come; the Destroyer of worlds. My hands trembled and I prayed once more for strength as the air seemed to shimmer and twist in the sun.

Five minutes, that's all I needed.

Let's Go

I woke up the other day and realised...I am still alive. I made it. I am thirty one years of age and I am still on this good earth.

So my thoughts went in the other direction for once. Not to how old I was getting or how little I've accomplished. Instead, I thought about how long I might still be here. Perhaps another thirty or fourty years. Because I have survived this long I feel I can expect a little more living to come, and instead of thinking that time is running out, I will look forward.

Yes I want to write a book, yes I want to be finished as soon as possible, but what? My life isn't going anywhere else in the meantime. I have time to create. And while that might seem a bold and spoiled kind of statement to make, I don't care. I don't want to care any more because that's just not working. For ten long years I've piled guilt on myself and not only stifling myself but also causing me to lose hope.

But I'm still alive! And every breath I take can be used to shape the future, my future. Sure I could still have a heart attack or be run over by a bus or left for dead in an alley, but what does worrying about that do? I still take care of myself, try to keep myself away from things I know are substantially bad for me, don't take risky shortcuts, and look both ways before crossing the road. Those things won't change.

What will change is this pressure I feel. I don't want to live my life feeling guilty. It is what it is. Feeling guilty about things makes me less productive, so no, I'm not keeping that any more.

My eyes are just on the horizon. The gap bordering tomorrow and the future. The place where I can act and make my future.

Screw everything else.