The shanty has passed its test as time continues to carve paths and well worn grooves in the wood. The stately forest at the end of the long ribbon lane provided the walls to this old breathing home. Bryan and Tom's great grandfather visioned the shanty (in reality the cottage) and with his wife did what any homesteader would do, cleared land, hauled and hewed. Rarely anyone passes through here anymore. In the late 1800's the foot traffic surged but not today. The bustle moved to the other side of town. But Bryan travels the lane everyday from the shanty to the needle-floored clearing.
"Bryan" pause. "Bryan!" pause. "Hey!" pause. "Bryan! Where are you going?" Tom's voice slices through thick fog finding Bryan on the lane. It doesn't matter what is in Tom's way. Obstacles? What are they? His voice always carries past and through substances and situations hindered by nothing and no one.
"Ugh, c'mon. Give me a moment." Bryan breathes under his breath. Tom shoves into mental spots and Bryan tries to find room. "I'll be back" Bryan yells lifting his head into the air throwing the words up and over.
Tom turns back leaping up the broad planked porch stairs. He knows. His persistence knows some limits.
It has been a long time, and for many, too long. There was a time when, moments of freedom, rivers of thoughts, avalanches of ideas and pelting words making significant dents was a constant flow. He knew, they knew and Tom always knows.
The clearing is not only a space in the forest but a place that offers freedom. Bryan walks slowly thinking about what has been, is, and hopefully will be. Time spent in the clearing is time well spent. Unfortunately, it is also time rarely spent.
Bryan understands the work while those pressuring are unaware and relentless. Bryan also understands that their pressure is the furnace needed for the melting to mold. It is a vicious cycle and often it is the very people who are unfamiliar with the process who ignorantly push beyond mere facts to get the product. He knows exactly what is needed and it is not in the realm of possibility. Facts, figures, and accounting are planet limitations, his limitations. Their unfounded desire pushes past these limitations. He needs the clearing to mentally clear.
And then he heard them, their laughter was sailing his way from Sandy Lake. The reservoir of past feelings flooded his dry land and though his thirst was quenched, his heart laid bare.
(To Be Continued...)