Yet another piece based on a prompt from the Starfish poem- I was thinking of the subscription to Wild Writing Family and I like to know that I could commit to the three times a week free writing before I got it. So what I did was go to the Wild Writing video on YouTube and then take down all of the lines she suggested as well as any that jumped out at me. I think I’ve still got one or two more pieces inspired by this poem. Now that I’ve actually subscribed and been doing Wild Writing for a while, I don’t regret having subscribed to it. Those who followed this blog from the early days will know that I do struggle for content with this blog and Wild Writing is giving more than enough material that I can feed into my blog, alongside with my other serial posts.
I believe the piece below was the first Wild Writing piece where I had jumped out of myself (through loose association in the second paragraph). Enjoy:
Is it a message finally or just another day? I don’t know. Who can know this? People might know afterwards, with hindsight. I mean, sometimes you think that way, after an experience, driven by an emotion. But do you think the same way about it 5 years later, 10 years later, 20 years later? Or do you think I got the wrong message that day? It wasn’t what I thought it was? Is that more likely to happen? Because people change, right? So what seemed to them to be the way is not so anymore? They outgrow a certain perception and then the world just shifts? Maybe it doesn’t even shift, not so small, so harmless a movement, maybe it titters over the edge and completely shatters? And then the message, no matter how much you believed in it, just became obsolete, like the old ink on a piece of paper that had been written over and over? Can you recover that text underneath then? Would it still make sense if you do, or would they be fragments, without enough connection between them for you to understand anymore?
Is it a message finally or just another day? I let the pigeon loose with the message just now. I have no idea if it will make its way back to me, or when it will; I did not even know whether it was a homing pigeon. But if it comes back, I will be here for it, I think. I will be here, sitting on a bench opposite the fountain. Will I recognise the pigeon without the message? Probably not. I am not a great animal lover or anything. I don’t even go to the zoo, can’t stand the smell. But maybe I will feel it. Maybe.