Lonely winds send tumbleweed across neglected alleys, as I stand by the dusty roadside of my mind. Glaring sunlight bounces off the fissured asphalt and blinds my hazy eyes. There's a dead poodle rotting away in the remains of a puddle. A flock of wild piglets feeds on its bloated carcass.
In the distance looms the tattered silhouette of what has now become a ghost town. I meander through its empty streets. Blunt, revealing sunlight stares at decrepit roofs. Mad coyotes rummage through dented dustbins. Dust gathers on keyboards. The silence is unbearable and there is only so much cricket chirping a man can take.
"Stop meandering down memory lane", grunts the old shepherd. "Move on! What you want, what you are looking for, we don't sell it here no more!" His complacent and sardonic grin grimaces at me through rotten teeth, but I know he's wrong. The shop around the corner isn't doomed quite yet.
I was not lost in the jungles of Argentina. In fact, I have never been there. And while the hands have been idle, the mind was not. Knuckles will be cracked once more, keys will be punched yet again. The brimful drawers of the mind will be emptied and webspace will again be wasted.
And while I contemplate, let us marvel at a glimpse of spring:
1 comment:
Money spent on the brain is never spent in vain.
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