The Manuscript

As the wind howls and whistles past my writing room window, it carries with it a hand-full of rain, swirling and sheeting down the sides of my house. The chill is back after a few days respite, and my attempt to stay warm is but a spark away. It is quiet save for the bongs echoing from out the hollowed bamboo wind-catchers hanging from the tree below. An occasional vehicle rumbles down the road, but for the most part, the house is quiet.

Time is spent tapping the keys that scroll their black words across the white screen. The characters are patient knowing who they are and where they are going, hoping that I will be able to take them there. Together we fill the vacant railway carriage, always looking forward to the continuing journey. And…… even though they know the reverie will never reach fruition, they are true and take the journey regardless, knowing full well that the resolve to reach the end eludes me.

Perhaps one day, when the scent of Gardenias fill the hot summer night, the railway carriage will arrive at it’s destination, and my ‘friends’ will finally be home.

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