I’m sharing this micro “Mapping” by my writer friend Patricia Bender.
Why?
Because it’s a reminder about finding ourselves despite this noisy madness. A sound. A smell. A sight. We remember who we were, who we are, who we want to be.
It ends with an embrace: A promise that we will find our way. The map is unwritten but it shows us we know more than we may realize.
Sometimes I have to say aloud: Put down your phone. Turn it all off. We’ll find our way. Listen to your inner self; ignore the constant messaging of doom and helplessness. We’re not alone; we’re not lost; we’re traveling over a mountain and cannot see what’s on the other side, but we’re moving forward.
Why am I so confident? Read Patricia’s micro. Then read it again. Every time I find something new. Hope you do too.
'Mapping' by Patricia Bender
Someone once asked me how do you write directions to a memory. I can’t remember who asked, but I can tell you it might be a sound, like the click of the old screen door that marks the spot. Or the smell of lilacs and geraniums that says, you’re here, you’re back. Or they are. They planted honeysuckle, which remind you of sweet biscuits, to climb the trestle alongside the dog run. The flowers intoxicating the bees so completely, there is no danger of getting stung as you run to the back gardens. It might be the sound of a gravel drive under your car tires telling you, you’re home, Or a train whistle. Certainly, the sound of bagpipes drifting up from the river banks, that would do it. But so would the wind moving through an oak tree’s branches announce, you’re back or they are, your loved ones. It might be the sight of a red singled house with grey wooden porches. It could be a small hen, red, and a large dog, black, standing sentry at some gates. You’d be right to find them friendly. Once dusk opens, a porch light shining in a back yard will signal you’re in the right place. You’re back or they are, your loved ones waiting. It could be the sound of a voice, one you remember but never heard before, a stranger asking in a cadence that acts as bridge, as highway, as high speed rail, You’re all right there, are ya? You might think, sometimes, you can’t get there from here, but the directions come to you when you need them most. And you never need write them down.
Comments are always welcome! Love hearing from you!!
I have been struck multiple times by driving up the Thruway and there’s a certain point maybe just around Woodstock where the mountains begin to make me feel like I’ve come home.
One of my favorite passages and literature is a scene in wind in the Willows, where after mole has gone to live with ratty, he walks through a field and smells his home. It makes me cry.
i love this because it reminds me to include specifics- don't just say i looked over my shoulder but i looked towards the white house behind me, or something like that, an opportunity to add detail. love it.