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My Life And Some Stuff
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TITLE (EDIT)
My Life And Some Stuff |
DESCRIPTION
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[740 words] |
AUTHOR
Jerry Puryear |
ABOUT
THE AUTHOR
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[November 2002] |
My Life And Some Stuff
Jerry Puryear
In my long and short-lived life ont his planet earth, periodically, almost religiously, I observe my ascension and dissention. I think and think about everything. I think about where I'm going and where I've been. I like to think about others too. I want to know what their stresses are. Do they relate to mine? I think about what I could be and how I will reach my goals. I think a lot.
Back home in Virginia, when I was a young boy heading into maturity, I would go up to the roof of our apartment. The black tar roof held my frail frame. The bricks bordering changed colors, from deep red into the morning, to a dark orange in the afternoon, and then into a blackish brown at night. I would go up there just to chat with God and look at the pigeons nesting, chirping, pecking, and flying away. They were like a garbage pile of ants swarming a forgotten and lost cupcake. I used to talk to God as if I could reach out and grab His hand. He would answer me too; I don't think anyone would have known what He said to me unless I told them. Even then, I am sure they did not believe me and thought that I had bumped my head. I do not really know, maybe I am a little crazy. I'd just sit in that old metal fold up chair, turning every so often because the metal itched me. I'd gaze at the stars in the big black darkness above. They were so bright. They looked as if someone from a far off planet was trying to contact me by way of flashlight. I'd just listen to the crickets and the flapping of the wings of the pigeons.
One night, while thinking about all of my dreams, hopes, and fears, on top of the roof I began to see my life clearly. There were countless pigeons that night. THey were just doing their own thing. Some pecking and fighting for food. Some flapping and screeching, for no apparent reason. Some walking around just doing nothing. Some flying coming in and some flying to go out. They were all just into themselves. It began to rain a little bit. The rain fell graceful and landed soft, as if each drop were a feather from the pigeon. The rain did not bother me so I just sat there, staring at the pigeons. It seemed as if they did not realize it was raining. The rain just fell and the pigeons were just themselves. It stopped, and they were still themselves. I began to wish that I were a pigeon.
Pigeons don't really have to worry about anything. They just go through life and do whatever. They have stresses, some search for food, some search for shelter, and most just do whatever everyone else is doing. At least they can come and go as they please. They can fly away if they want. They are just pigeons.
And then I thought to myself, "Naw, I aint tryin to be no pigeon. Man, I wanna be a hawk. Man, hawks are on some serious stuff." Hawks have it all under control. I mean, they are just free. Hawks are so beautiful with thier strong features, sharp, strong, long beaks to peck with big, old wings that reach into infinity, and those mechanical claws. Those things are like vice grips with a fork stuck at the ends of them. They are really sharp. Hawks don't have to pick, peck, and fight, scratching and clawing to get ahead. They just live in existence.
Then, I was like, "Naww, I wanna be the air, because the air just is." Virginia air, southern air, not that city air with all that pollution and crap. Southern air is fresh and clean, not tainted. The air is above all that nonsense. You can't hurt the air. It doesn't need food or other things. It does not have to worry about things that must supplement its existance. It is independent from everything except God who created it and it really does understand this.
Then, I came back to reality. I found myself again, among the pigeons, sky, stars, darkness, and that roof. The reality was taht I am already a pigeon, who longs to be a hawk that is dreaming to be free. But for right now, I have just got pigeon shit on my shoes.
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COPYRIGHT NOTICE
© 2002 Jerry Puryear |
STORYMANIA PUBLICATION DATE
November 2002 |
NUMBER OF TIMES TITLE VIEWED
1804
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