| Letters and Diary Non-Fiction posted September 2, 2014 |
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Prose
A Breeze Knows What It Seeks
by michaelcahill
Like the wind, she comes to be in my presence. I have no knowledge of origin or pedigree. My sense of order delights in its own dishevelment. A list that once tasked my mind catches the breeze that carried her and drifts away as a dragonfly might if someone were watching. I recall my list. I remember it once being of great significance. It pertained to the perfect woman I felt I should seek.
My soul is laughing at the parts of me that would make a list. She is smiling at me, or rather her soul is. It appears that the time we have both spent planning and seeking has been a method of biding time.
Souls are parts of ourselves that know beyond doubt what they want. They know when they find it. They seek each other out and only the foolish impede them.
Soul Writer writing prompt entry
Like the wind, she comes to be in my presence. I have no knowledge of origin or pedigree. My sense of order delights in its own dishevelment. A list that once tasked my mind catches the breeze that carried her and drifts away as a dragonfly might if someone were watching. I recall my list. I remember it once being of great significance. It pertained to the perfect woman I felt I should seek.
My soul is laughing at the parts of me that would make a list. She is smiling at me, or rather her soul is. It appears that the time we have both spent planning and seeking has been a method of biding time.
Souls are parts of ourselves that know beyond doubt what they want. They know when they find it. They seek each other out and only the foolish impede them.
My soul is laughing at the parts of me that would make a list. She is smiling at me, or rather her soul is. It appears that the time we have both spent planning and seeking has been a method of biding time.
Souls are parts of ourselves that know beyond doubt what they want. They know when they find it. They seek each other out and only the foolish impede them.
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Writing Prompt In under 150 words, define a "soul." You may write poetry or prose. |
 Recognized |
The wind has always fascinated me. What intrigues me, I suppose, is that we know nothing of where it came from or where it goes. We don't know when it comes into being or when it ceases to be. We see its effect and suppose. Such is a soul to my way of thinking. It is clear, like the wind, that it has origin, direction and destination. That is what is important. To try and understand is noble. To try and impede is foolish. Well, a rather deep topic for so few words. I hope you enjoy my attempt.
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