Lines in the Red Book

Writer, doodler, and habitual consumer of coffee. Daily journal pages.

[a-tolkienist]

Out of time? There is always time. But what do you make time for? That is the real question.

(I’ve loved doodling clocks and clocktowers ever since playing Myst as a kid)

[a-tolkienist]

The Window

“Where does the window go?” she asked, staring through spider web panes and dusty cross beams.

The world gray with murky glass and tiny cracks shot (to soul) from edge to edge.

What does the window see with clouded eye, transfixed with grime and dust?

We can’t see out but the window (your soul) already could.

[a-tolkienist]

and now for something else entirely... have some popcorn!

(I’m pretty sure the cap, goggles, and chainmail are a direct result of playing Chrono Trigger for several hours on end)

[a-tolkienist]

here is a little book that doesn’t know what it’s about is making it up as it goes along, from page to page... but is there a difference?

(i see you watching it as it goes along) as it grows bit by bit...

[a-tolkienist]

Topographic map of nowhere in particular. Topo maps = the best part of geology lab.

[a-tolkienist]

Little Book lying open

here is a little book with a cover made of cherries stitched through with witchy tiny threads.

here is a little book with pages spread wide flying into the world quietly.

here is a little book with a flimsy button clasp keeping fast the whimsy tucked inside.

here is a little book lying open in your hands

[a-tolkienist]

Lakeshore Wandering the lakeshore on a September day

We wander hand in hand, along cracked shale at the water’s lapping edge.

We listen to the whisper of waves and humming of the roadway.

She toddles past pebbles, stoops to pluck a single bloom from a scraggly stalk.

We step over latticed roots washed dry by the lake’s receding tide.

We choose one rock, then two, till soon my bag is full, with one corner torn.

She gathers concrete and kite strings, saves rusted beer caps and blossoms alike.

[a-tolkienist]

The Little Red Book - a place to plant stories.

[a-tolkienist]

A: what's that? Me: some paper I stitched together. A: have you written in it yet? Me: but it doesn't have a cover. (I don't know why this is so important, but it is). A: ... you could make one. Me: ...