After a fair decade, I returned to the world of Lemony Snicket. I borrowed Beatrice letters from Fernfly, devouring it to the core. How right was C.S. Lewis when he quoted,” A children’s story that can only be enjoyed by children is not a good children’s story.”, profound!
“The signs of wisdom”, the old man said, “are the realizations that the volume knob also turns left and the fact that best of friends come with a tail and a cold, wet nose”.
Sometimes in between the paragraph
while you look for that lost word
or when you draw that doodle on the marginalia
a pencil dangling in your slender fingers
caressing that lock of untamed hair…
When I close my eyelids deterring to the noise of the world ─ a cauldron about to bubble over, veering my thoughts to all that will remain placid and unchanged by time, oblivious to the humans passing me by, there by the orchard Rusty forever be chasing my demons away. To her I would always be the boy who never grew up.
And when marred by urban humility, the stasis clogs, you realize what you lost and what was lost in you. Forgetting all the troubles of the world outside the periphery of the mountains – letting go of dates and days, forgiving bosses and escaping the burden of thoughts only the realize the weight of water in the backpack.
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