She walked pointedly across the garden, her countenance of frank annoyance. He watched her with narrowed eyes, sitting on the stone ledge silently. She was walking away, yet again. He was staying, yet again. She made no effort to improve their relationship, so neither did he. He was a mimicking dog, who was quiet and obedient; his trainer was blunt and cold-hearted. He was the single blade of grass that followed the rhythm of the wind. He was nothing. Nothing is the tiniest grain of sand, buried deep among all the other grains of sand. Nothing is a man or woman in the massive populace of New York City, each doing nothing for the city but fulfilling their own ineffective satisfactions. Blurred memories shot painfully at him ' he silently cried out against the unfairness of it all. Burying his head into his sickly hands, he wept soulfully; for the greater good and the lesser evil did he do nothing. God could not help him if He tried; He was incapable of fixing the problem that now held him to this paralyzed state. The petals of the white lotus were now falling to the musty ground as the wind pulled them away from him. Grass grew in a different direction from where he was looking at now. Thunder sounded in the distance ' he looked up. The grass slowly turned his way as a puff of mere wind lightly touched the ground. Thank God, he thought, Thank God.
February 26, 2009