Welcome to Gaia! :: View User's Journal | Gaia Journals

So here I sit, once more putting thoughts down on paper. The air is charged, almost alive. With pen in hand, never have I felt more like my old self.

I sit facing the woods across the road. Lightning bugs flare and die out in some unknown rythym; a band of tree frogs sing their nightly chorus; and a lone, little bat dances across a cloud-stained sea of stars. I call him Little Wing, and he is mine, as much as any piece of the world can be. And tonight, as Little Wing dines, he dances for me alone.

As I watch him swoop and dive, my mind begins to slow its non-stop stream of thoughts. It delves deep, and the questions and ideas that re-surface immediately begin to take effect. Every part of my being feels weighed down. My breathing constricts, coming in short, harsh gasps. My head throbs, as if the very thoughts themselves seek escape. And then, they are upon me.

"What kind of person would knowingly, willingly destroy the lives of innocent children? What kind of person does it take to place ignorance they lamely call love before the welfare of their own blood? Can you still be said to possess any humanity after willfully exposing your children to poisons and toxins in the name of a cheap high and a fistful of dollars??"

"How can someone split up siblings, scattering brothers and sisters across three different households, rarely if ever any more than three or four together at once, and have the nerve to call themself a mother?? Children, innocent children, born with health issues common to a forty year old man; children with learning disabilities, anger issues, phobias and disorders; children that will grow up and never even know one another as a brother or a sister. All for a cheap rush and some drug money."

"How can I share a world, whose very existence screams beauty and purpose, with monsters that do not even care for their own well-being, let alone that of the children they helped to bring into this world??"

.....

I come out of my reverie, pulse racing, breathing fast. Night has fallen. I slow my breathing, and try to sort out all that has just rushed onto me. Little Wing is gone; likely scouring the field that skirts the woods. Heat lightning flashes in the distance, promising a later light show. And I, well, I go back inside, no wiser than when I came out.