Dear Friend of my Heart,
I saw a middle-aged man sit beside a sapling and speak to it of everything he knew about trees. He seemed to know a lot about trees. Heartwarming, said a passerby. Absolutely horrifying, said another. I looked at the latter inquisitively. She said, “there is nothing more distasteful than to tell a sapling what a tree is like.”
I wanted to know if she believed in education. She said, “actually… there is something more distasteful than that… asking a sapling to behave like a tree.”
Only the other day someone tried to tell me that it is difficult to make a living as a poet. I thought of an English teacher from middle school. What deep admiration I had for her. Then she got married and probably shifted to another city, or at least shifted away from my life. She had asked me after reading some of my short stories, “Why don’t you become a writer when you grow up?” I was confused. I just looked at her. In response to my disorientation she said, yes but writers don’t make much money. It left me even more confused, if anything. I still don’t know what to be when I grow up.
This afternoon for some time I was with these reptilian beauties…
Someone asked me if I wanted to be a wildlife photographer. I said, “what?”
Someone asked me if I wanted to be a writer. I said, I Skink before I think.
I skink, therefore I am.
Well, I could go on, but that might be disrespectful to your sense of time. Maybe not. Would you like to be more reptilian when you grow up?
Eager to hear from you.