Saturday, January 8, 2011

A new story.

Nothing is where it once was, the proportions are different, the light is different; windows are not where they ought to be but of course ought is the operant word and condition.  Ought in this case refers to conditions from the past.  Everything is exactly where it seems to fit best; the situation and circumstances are different but they are taking on a sense of having been where they now are for some time, longer than seems possible.

You are no longer at 652 Hot Springs, where things were where they ought to be because you had a hand in arranging them to be there.  This is no different from a new story or a new essay or a new review, where you in a sense feel your way along in the dark, trying to make things fit or perhaps reaching the conclusion that they don't belong, they need to be moved elsewhere or discarded.

During the course of any given day, you do not find it unusual to venture into places you have not been before, you adapt with ease, taking in details, orienting yourself, lining up points of reference.  You adjust in the same way to the surroundings of a story, becoming a part of the setting, venturing into the time frame.  Story, too is often a place where nothing is as it once was; you cast about for familiar faces and things, much the way Sally is doing now, sniffing at the new and the moved, the things that were once somewhere else.

409 East Sola is a new story.

4 comments:

Storm Dweller said...

Sounds as if you've been doing a bit of rearranging today too.

Anonymous said...

Best to you and Sally in the new space.

Sarah said...

I dream of moving all the time, both waking and sleeping, so my reaction is one of envy. Having moved repeatedly when young, this current stretch takes much patience on my part not to run screaming from the scene. I know you'll thrive in your new home Shelly- and I look forward to more stories about things that change, things that stay the same.

Shelly Lowenkopf said...

It is said of Sisyphus that he was offered his choice: perpetual moving of his own belongings or the rock.