There are only so many ways you can explain why you are carrying a hacksaw, a thermometer, and a shovel.
I didn’t even try.
If I saw anyone watching me while I was trying to keep the sawteeth away from my legs, I would cheerfully wave my thermometer at them.
Or maybe that was the hacksaw.
What story have I told you?
A trailed off voice, an uncomfortable silence, a flash of light in the darkness.
What we don’t say tells as much of a story as what we do.
I have had a life filled with moments of strangeness.
I honor them by letting them stand on their own.
These stories within stories, these moments with neither end nor beginning, appear and disappear within writing.
We are all story-tellers at heart.
Taking these threads I have given, you have told yourself something.
As I approach in the darkness, thermometer flashing, I will tell you that your story is better, a less boring explanation.
I will walk off, juggling my hacksaw, into an unknown future.
A boring explanation
Cat Amesbury 