Honie Briggs


Each morning is a mind reading exercise. Slivers of light pierce the words floating passed me in the half-waking moments, but then they fall away before I can capture them. I lie motionless and survey the terrain. A silky ribbon flickers in the distance and I rush toward it only to find myself flat against a wall. It is cold and grey. I become aware of my smallness. What is this place? I recognize the rhythmic resonance; music or a memory waiting to be set free. How did I get here?

Others make it seem so effortless, their words skipping their way onto the page with brilliance to entertain or inform us. Reading, much like dreaming is a paradise of sorts for those who not only comprehend the meaning the writer is trying to convey, but also read between the lines to create meaning of their own.  It is easy to see how madness could overtake a person inclined to such pursuits for too long. I need fresh air and sunshine.

Once I have a cup of coffee and make my way through the inbox it becomes clear that the pressing matters of yesterday have either been resolved or they are resting up to haunt my dreams or greet me some other cloudy day. Another week has gone by and I am not sure what, if anything, I have accomplished. Perhaps a new hairstyle or a weekend getaway will brighten things up a bit so my wit and charm can shine for all the world to see next week. Laughing at myself seems to help. How did I get here? What a silly question. I know exactly how, what was I thinking?

“A day without sunshine is like, you know, night.”― Steve Martin

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