The weather is clear and cool; nights find the air with a slight chill that makes the air crisply fresh. After the soaring summer temperatures these cool days and mornings bordering on cold are more than welcome. A short relief from the heat before the freezing temperatures set in. Here in my somewhat isolated corner of the world with a view of nothing but horses and fields on one side should be a writers paradise.
Paradise it should be but for some reason it’s not. There hasn’t been much inspiration from the peaceful beauty surrounding me lately. I’m starting to wonder if it doesn’t have to do with the increased awareness of having a neighbor directly across the street. Maybe it’s the awareness of having next door neighbors that increasingly louder as the years pass.
The first days of fall when the leaves are all changing colors and the temperature has dropped until it’s just right are my favorites. There is no need for air conditioning and it’s not yet cold enough to worry about heat. I can remember the summers as a child, I would burn up in the house and inevitably end up with a heat rash due to the lack of air conditioning. The hottest part of the day was spent in the garden as that seemed to be when things needed doing the most.
Maybe inspiration would strike me if I took a visit to the home of my childhood. There is one small problem with that scenario though. The house that I grew up in only lives in my memory, it was destroyed over a decade ago. My children have never seen it and they never will because it doesn’t exist anymore. Sometime before the end of my teen years a hurricane came through and it was gone. I’d love to saw it was gone in an instant but sadly it was much slower and more painful.
The land has changed with the plot across from the house where once a garden was planted has grown over in the twenty plus years since I left. The yard itself was resurfaced to include a drive into the yard, the garden is all but a memory and there is now a trailer where a house once stood. The original well house and the cement porch are the only traces that remain of those innocent years that looking back weren’t as innocent as you would think.
Maybe one day I’ll write about those times; one day I’ll sit down and sort it all out. You know that time changes details and makes memories fuzzy. The side of the actions that you were on can affect the memories and the effects those memories have on you. I have a lot to write about though. I’m a child of divorce with two divorces and two children of my own. Living a life that I never envisioned as a child and still dreaming of the ending that I want.
Amazing how three decades have passed without my noticing. Changes are all around me yet I can’t find them. Reruns are beautiful things that can take you back into time and make you forget all of your worries. Sitting in front of a television set watching an orange car with a rebel flag painted on the top jump a creek can make me forget that I’m all grown up now. The two in the car were cute then and they’re gorgeous now. When I watch that show it’s easy to forget that a number of the cast members have passed away; when I do remember it serves to remind me of my own mortality.
The days of innocently watching as cars are flipped over and everyone is fine are broken. The memory of a race car driver that hit the wall and was far from fine keep butting in now. Amazing the amount of wonder and innocence that we lose over the years. Maybe my imposed seclusion is good for me after all. In the time I’ve spent sitting here I’ve come up with half a dozen ideas which is rather good considering that I’ll be writing a novel next month.
I’m rather tired so I’ll stop visiting with my thoughts and go dream about them. There is nothing better than a good nights sleep except for maybe a night cap to indulge in so that rest is more peaceful.