Featured Writer of The Week: Paige McPhee

PicMonkey Collage

I got lost in the met last Summer.

During a week in July where the air was as thick as the mobs on the city sidewalks, I became separated from my Mother and Sister in the icy cool of the Metropolitan, sifting from one room to the other like a grain of sand in an hourglass; seamlessly, without much effort or control.

As I developed my own current and flowed from work to work, I found myself thinking that if I were to become truly lost, I probably would not care. There were worse places to lose oneself, than around pieces of priceless art in a bevy of likeminded strangers.

There is a painting I specifically remember of a forest fire. Initially I was drawn by the bright red and yellows of the flickering flames, but it is the green that resonates the with me the most. The low hills coated in modest moss, untouched by the fire, furthest from the creeping tongues and crawling char.

I always found that funny as a child, that when building a fire you could not use anything green.
“Nothing fresh off the trees, girl. they just won’t burn,” my Uncle said, snapping brittle branches in his steady hands, and feeding them to the fire.

What a strange resilience life has to destruction.

I imagine it is that same resilience that keeps blood flowing when a parent loses a child, air passing through lungs when a wife leaves a husband, when a company becomes bankrupt, a building bombed, a city flooded.

With the setting of suns, and rising of stars, there is an otherworldly continuum that seems to spin the globe. to rise bodies out of beds, minds to mend, and hearts to heal.

and although we may not feel inclined – those mornings where our bones feel of steel, our chests heavy and heaving under the pressure of an empty hand, wallet, or car seat – it is the green that keeps us going.

Green that we may find in the smile of a stranger, a passage in a weathered book. the embrace of a loved one, an image in a dream.

We must remember, that although we may feel defeated or alone, beaten by brutality unwarranted and undeserved, or simply absent in the presence of our own person, that there are things that even fire cannot burn.

Copyright © 2015 Daniella Beca MyCompositionNotebook


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