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Notes in the Sandbox
a collection of writing, reflection and inspiration...

The Hardest Lesson

7/10/2023

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A free write exercise. July 10, 2023​

Writing Prompt 
- He learned the hardest lesson of his life and had the scars, both physical and mental, to prove it.​

It was the beginning of another week. Another day. Another month. He set out to make it be a different day then the last 273 days.

His mind had just begun wrapping itself around facts that haunted him for what felt like an eternity. Scars had developed behind his eyes so he saw them everywhere he looked. Not physical in nature but actual in their emotionality. What does that mean to him? What does it say? He wanders around the desert wanting water but he's carrying it all on his back. He could drink for days but he doesn't have a straw. He could walk out into the ocean but the salty sea would swallow him. He could wander down the path up the hill over the bluff onto the sand into the sun over the rocky pebbles of the wave battered beach.

He should whistle but his lips are dry from parched conversations in the moonlight. He draws his wrist out in front of him, looking at the veins as they pulse. He knows he's alive but he's yet to live again. He's learned the hardest lessons but can't move away or towards them. He's stuck. He's stationary. He's unwaveringly undecided. He's wilting under the heat of the moment that painted physical and mental scars on his body and his mind. He's wondering what he can do. He's wondering what he can say. He's pondering the meaning of those lessons that he learned 273 days ago.

​12 minutes pass and he hasn't blinked. 11 more and he starts to whisper. 10 minutes drag him up onto his feet. 9 leaves fall from the tree in front of him. 8 times he stuck his foot out from off the curb yet put it back down without moving ahead. 7 meals he ate alone without taking a bite. 6 rolls of the dice before he saw the eyes of the snake. 5 fingers ran through his hair and he relaxed. Finally. 4 minutes passed before their stare was broken. 3 beers between the 2 and they became 1 again.
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I Am

5/22/2023

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I am tired.
I am sore.
I am winded.
I’m spread out on the floor.
I’m scared.
I’ve fared.
I am wounded.
I’m sent out the door.
I’ve thought.
I’ve pondered.
I am whistling.
I’m going to the store.
To pick up some bread and milk and eggs.
​It’s time for some French Toast.
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Dusted with Sunbeams

12/13/2021

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The pinks and purples and orange flares
Are something beheld with our eyes unfolded
The strings of pillowy clouds blanked in hues
Rising as if lifted from the ever warming sky
Dusted with sun beams rising from the horizon
The light slowly turns from pinks to subtle blues
Purples fade away as the sun begins it's rise for the day
She whispers hints of the coming winter
Soon it will fly, the snow will have its say
With satin white sprinkled boughs in the wind swept hallowed December
We'll soon hear her singing

I couldn't believe what I saw when I opened the curtains this morning. It was still dark throughout the house yet I could see light peeping through the curtains. The world was still waking up and the sky put on a beautiful display.

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Was It Just a Dream?

12/4/2021

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Weight of the world on my shoulders
Cliche as it may sound
I'm feeling the brunt of these boulders
As they push me into the ground
Their gritty kind of exterior
Made of dirt and petrified wood
Grinds deeply into my skin
Hardly stand up with all I could
Where are my support beams
Gleaming in the sun
Leaning against a road sign
Full of holes from a gun
A painted secant on the avenue
Telling us not to go
As the tumble weeds gather
And wander to and fro
A wasteland full of nothing
Void of thought and wonderment
Is it a dream or a nightmare
That haunts with detriment
Awake with a sweatiness
Burning in your pillow
Your breath can finally slow
​After this fallowed night time sentiment
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Morning Ritual

11/18/2021

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One of my favorite parts of the morning is my morning coffee ritual.

I start off with freshly roasted beans from Vermont Coffee Company, specifically their Dark Roast. Their Dark Roast has always been a favorite of mine as it offers a rich, roasted, dark, almost burnt chocolatey intensity but it has a pleasant aroma and taste that isn't harsh as sometimes can be typical with some of the other dark roast coffees I have tried.

When I first open the air tight canister of beans, it's magical. You know they are fresh when they have a nice sheen on them. This is a greasy bean house. You know it's good when they're greasy. After that initial silent moment just after opening the canister, I have a quick reflection on what's about to happen. I gently pour the beans, offering themselves up to me when it's their time, into my coffee grinder. If my wife happens to be around when I'm doing this I shout out a nonchalant "Noise!" and hit the button. Suddenly the beans are dancing with each other, becoming a finer version of their former self.

After the joyous chaos of bean grinding is complete I fill the kettle with water and get my French press ready for our little morning party. Up to the mark and it's time to heat up the bath.

Amidst the heating of the water, it's time to measure out the heaping scoops. With my measuring spoon, I dive into the freshly ground goodness, filling my French press with just enough of the black gold dust.

Thirty-two ounces of water and six heaping spoonfuls is all it takes.  No more.  No less.  Perfection...

​Just coming off its boil, the water is ready to be poured, but I must wait. Thirty seconds to be exact. Slowly, in small circles I gently pour the hot water over the ground coffee beans, letting them breath as I go. Little bubbles come to the surface as I pour the scalding water, making sure to envelope every last bit of coffee in a warm embrace, up to the fill mark on my press. It's therapeutic watching something like this. The beans are going from solid form to liquid form. It's a satisfying feeling, taking a solid little bean and transforming it into something that gives off pure joy in the form of warmth, comfort and energy.

With a stir and the setting of a timer, I wait...

​
I get slight hints of burnt chocolate and raspberry in the air while I wait for my coffee to brew, pondering what I'm going to accomplish today. I gather my mug and half 'n half awaiting the moment where I can push the plunger down into the dark abyss, separating liquid from solid, completing the metamorphosis from one thing to another. Bean to brew. Cold to warm. Asleep to awake. Half to whole. From apart to together again. The cycle continues...

...and then I pour my first mug.
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