Tomorrow it’s official in ways more sure and binding even than the day I posted Descent for sale. I am an author. I’m at a loss to explain why the door didn’t open for me then, but it didn’t. Not in my own heart and mind, where it counts. Today, I looked at tomorrow’s book launch and saw it for what it was; a turning point from which there will be no return. It’s not nearly as dramatic as it sounds, of course. Just a quiet realization and a slice of peace with it. Changes don’t always come that way, but its lovely when they do. I know the journey isn’t over, but I have to say, thanks for coming with me. I’ve truly enjoyed the company.

Fresh SandPfieffer beach door

There are points in life where everything stops.

A door swings open.

A great wind blows you

(sometimes gently, sometimes like a slap to the back of your head that slams you to the floor)

through.

When you get up,

(because you have to get up)

the place is different.

Not just the paint or the trees or the tiny flowers on a green lawn,

but literally, concretely different,

than where you were before.

And you know you can never retrace your steps.

The door is gone and

the place you were in doesn’t exist anymore.

It’s gone like this morning’s sunrise and toast.

Memories now, either bitter or sweet, but no longer

accessible except in the pages of your mind.

I can see my point approaching.

It glimmers in the near distance,

risk and reward contained in a single drop of time.

You can’t have one without the other.

I recognized it today on my way home from my past.

It doesn’t scare me, but I’m shaking

still my hands are reaching and my feet dancing

to a new rhythm,

tracing scarlet bands in fresh sand. 

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2 thoughts on “Fresh Rag

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