Tuesday, March 31, 2009

Rust of the anchor

I heard myself speak, a quiet insistent voice I did not recognize, loud only in its force. Unyielding force, but no push, just position. It sounded hoarse from the inside, its frequency having never touched the air.

It did not feel like brushed steel. Maybe tempered iron. In any case, a matrix of metals - elements I never knew belonged to me.

I cannot say I am comfortable with it, it feels more of me than mine. For now. But I do like the idea of mining, of a hidden mine manned by dedicated hands that seek not exploitation, but proper use of natural resources. Of earthy elements inside my own private earth.


Alison said...

You kill me with such blog entries. Are you writing a book? Please say yes.

Nicole said...

Alison - Why did we not know each other in France? Why are we not neighbors? We should be out drinking wine and coffee on thursdays of odd weeks and fridays of even ones discussing topics of interest. A book, no I'm not. But I'd like to be able to add a but to the end of that sentence.