Robert (gurdonark) wrote,


I thank everyone who has signed up to play in my Summer writing meme.
I'm impressed with the thought and care of those who have completed theirs thus far. I like particularly the ones that take the idea, and then spin it individually into something more attractive.

My wife and I drove to nearby Trinity Trail last night, in hope of a hike on this rural lakeside trail. The mud stymied us--as I drove away, I remembered--"oh, yeah, there was a flash flood warning the other night for this area". I feel as though so often I get belated revelations of the things everyone already knew.

We drove to Towne Lake Park in nearby McKinney, which is easily the most gracious town lake park in our area. Town lake parks are a mainstay of this part of Texas, but so often the lake is actually too small a pond for proper walking, fishing or scenery. Towne Lake Park, by contrast, has a large body of water surrounded by cedar elms and willows. It draws wild ducks as well as having its own resident population of domestic birds. Last night, a giant heron looked like the face of Bird upon the waters, and there were feathers and there were wings and it was the first day. It was pretty good.

As we walked the circle around the lake, we noticed that one of those little carnivals was set up in the parking lot across the street. I realized that the sound of a woman screaming was not a "need to help" situation but a "small Ferris wheel" situation.
I find metaphoric value in the idea that the size of the Ferris wheel is not always a good clue to the size of the scream.

I love the Tilt-a-Whirl. I ride in the little cars which spin as they go around in circles. Sometimes the spin causes vertiginous thrills. Sometimes the ride barely excites. Sometimes everything starts with one's head in a spin, and then the ride suddenly ends.
Teenage love was just like that tilt-a-whirl, though, somehow not surprisingly, I rarely found myself at the carnival in those days.
I remember one particular week in a church camp in which I was in serious like by Saturday night, and alone by Wednesday. There are seven days of church camp, you know, and each corresponds to an age of man. I wonder if my radar was off--perhaps I should have gotten a clue when she fell asleep on my shoulder when I was giving my first, and most, real romantic speech. Maybe I've been relatively lucky in love because I learned then that someone who listens is a good thing.

Did you ever notice how dizzy the Tilt-a-Whirl can make you?
It's not as bad as that centrifuge ride, in which lifting your head from the 'fuge is basically saying to the universe "I've tried comfort, now let me try nausea". But sometimes on the Tilt-a-whirl you spin, and it's all good, and sometimes the ride ends, and your head is still spinning.

Somehow, now, I can find my excitement in walking and talking and
being in the moment. But adrenaline is a funny thing--and maybe the Tilt-a-Whirl inside never quite stops spinning.

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