The Trees of East Bay Street

I feel bottomless affection for Savannah purely because there dwells the most magnificently eerie and stunning trees that I have seen nowhere else. In my opinion, all other lofty woodland vegetation seems like mere shrubbery and does not merit the title of “tree,” after my encounter with the trees on East Bay Street. They grasp your attention subconsciously with their peculiar grandeur. Instead of fussing with the detail of twigs, the imposing beings of wood interweave their thick branches with the warm Georgia atmosphere. Moss drapes the twisted appendages and gives the trees a look of knowledge and portentous age, similar to a man’s graying hair. They seem to bear secrets. I desperately wanted to climb the shrewd entities and listen to their undisclosed understanding. But, my questions were hushed by the tree’s menacing dignity, before I could utter them. It is odd that they were planted in the midst of the disarray of traffic and quickly fleeting crowds of tourists. The longevity and opulence juxtaposed to the brief disorder only intensifies the majestic nature of the trees if an eye is keen of the difference.

Wouldn't it be nice?

How I desire to be a part of this time…

Where men donned the air of sophistication upon their heads

And black and white articulated the world.

84 degrees

The sun has me wrapped around its finger. I sit around pining for its presence all winter, complaining constantly about much I abhor the world without it, and sulking in my icy depression. When the sun does deem to show up, I smother it with my company. Even when the sun decides to slumber after a day of presentation, its tepid attendance pervades the night atmosphere and charms me in its hidden radiance. Reclining in the thick contouring grass, starring at the blackened ceiling of night, and swimming in the humid breeze all leave me incandescently happy.

I find the indoors unnecessary when the sun’s personality is as affable as it has been this weekend. Today I wandered on the railroad tracks, with the sun behind a wall of trees, casting jagged silhouettes on the parallel planks. Pacing on the abstract shadows, heading down a never ending aligned passage cultivated much contemplation and contentment. After spending the entirety of my Sunday in the company of the golden luminosity, I ended up with a permanent blush, new dots flecked across my pallid epidermis, and merriment saturating my disposition.

Perfection.

Poisoned Rationality

Glossophobia is the fear of public speaking.

And, I have it!

This affects as much as 75% of the population. It is ranked above the fear of death.

I am not certain what is more troubling; the fact that I am influenced by an unsound horror of the masses or that my fright is so irrational that I am more alarmed to utter syllables into the hearing than to be slaughtered. That could be used for my gain if I was going to slay the Lions of Injustice habitually. But, unfortunately, a crowd’s expectant ears will almost certainly be more ordinary in my days than a beast beckoning me for a duel. Frankly, my fear is dim-witted.

Yesterday, I had to speak in front of a multitude. A crowd of prisoners. Normally, I shun any kind of situation where I am being noticed by a collective group. When it is my birthday, I avoid places like the cafeteria or any location where those gathered could sing me their tuneful wishes. In high school, I took F’s on assigned speeches in order to stay unnoticed and unmoved at my desk. But, last night I could not sit sweetly among the crowd for my charge was to encourage them with my presence and my message. Unhappily, I could not mollify my self-interested longing to remain unvoiced. My selfishness would just not do. Since those facing me were incarcerated for their selfish acts and doubtlessly wounded by others selfishness toward them, I had to counteract their life experience in what small way I could. So, I stood up and spoke. At first, I scarcely remembered what a word was and each one was agonizing to force out of my jaws but, in time, my difficulty transitioned into ease. By the end my rendezvous with Fear, I moderately enjoyed relaying what I was confident about confidently to the inmates. I think I just might grin. Maybe not.

I get to orate my thoughts to a multitude of prisons...

every Wednesday…

for a semester…

I’ll reconsider that grin in a month…

Here it goes…