Revere thought he was a man of deep thoughts. He took life seriously… too seriously. He spent so much time defining and categorizing every little instance of life, that he forgot what it meant to live. He venerated the mundane. He took to heart the minor insults and injuries everyone else would ignore. In short, he did his best to bring forth the importance of every little action to the exclusion of what everyone else thought was important.
One day Revere was walking in the park, mumbling to himself, as he recounted what he had had for breakfast. A squirrel in the tree above him, at that moment dropped an acorn onto Revere’s head. Startled, Revere looked around for the culprit who dared to interrupt his devotional thoughts. But there was no one in sight. The squirrel dropped another acorn. Again it bounced off Revere’s head, but he couldn’t tell were it had come from.
Revere spun around looking for a place to lay blame, but there was nothing to see but green grass, empty paths and large oak trees. Convinced someone was throwing things at him, he sputtered in anger and indignation. He forgot his breakfast meditation and he forgot his planned walk about the park, for the first time in his life he was confronted with a mystery. He didn’t know what to do.
Just then the squirrel dropped a third acorn. This one bapped Revere right on the nose. He froze, his eyes grew wide and he held his breath. He couldn’t comprehend what had hit him or where it had come from. Slowly he raised his hand to his nose. He touched it, as if it no longer belonged to his face. Fearfully he turned in one more circle, searching for an answer to this terrifying mystery. Still there was no one in sight. No children to yell at. No gangs of seedy youth, not even a cantankerous old bum… no one he could direct his fear and anger toward.
Any other man would have thought to look up. They would have seen that clumsy little squirrel and laughed. But Revere could only think horizontally. He stood there frozen in his inability to process the unknown. He was alone. His mind blank. His senses blind to the cool breeze, numb to the sweet scent of blossoms, and deaf to the humor of the silly random acts. And so he stood… transfixed.
Until… the rain began to fall. Large drops plopped down on the path. They pelted his head, his shoulders, his nose. Revere stood there as the rain soaked him through. Then slowly, he began to walk again. His mind had found an answer he could accept. He blamed the rain… He filed away that thought. He filed away his fear. He was as he had been before… and the squirrel didn’t care.
Really… it is still May 6th where I am… so I have made my deadline for today.
Day six of “Face Lines… and Story Lines”
Word and image by Cicely Robin Laing © 2014