still riding backwards careening downhill

still riding backwards careening downhill

fiction
edward w pritchard


Sometimes no matter how hard someone works at piling up things and treasure they end up with a handful of sand that the wind gently blows from their grasp.

Author has written before about careening backwards down hill. Out of control, secretly we feel the momentum of ourselves and what we know being left behind by an indifferent  world. In time we realize that we do not know the secret language of worldly success which changes with confusing frequency.

The winds of change start far out in desert high in the sacred mountains. Our health fails us as we trudge up the Mountain to find the burning bush that marks the spot where the winds of change begin.

Whether we ride an old dented truck backwards careening out of control or a broken down apocralyptic spindly hack of a horse back to earth and our own lives is of no matter. We will slip backwards very fast to sacred ground zero with a unheard and unheralded thud.

Clutch to the shaking feeble hand next to you before they fall as well. Stand together beneath the sacred Eucalyptus trees for protection from change, time and circumstance.

You will have your day but you will not notice that it was years ago. Alone listen to the Wind blow the sands of treasure and secret knowldge from your trembling hands.

Work hard, be happy, fear the Lord.

No one can see the future during a cosmic dust storm. From planet to planet and galaxy to galaxy divine winds wisk across the universe. Scattered parts and pieces of your original essence seeks reunion with the forgotten whole.

Work hard, be happy, fear the Lord.