The space keyboard brings insecurity to my typing. It is wobbly, in a fit of misdirected force I became irate and hit it thus making the spacebar wobbly. It’s nearly reflecting my approach to writing. As I always fear the power words have, and ultimately the power the reader has; unto them, I stand needlessly out in the open.
The one because I don’t know how to control them. Ornamentation is hardly my forte, I, like botanist Carl von Linne, care only to classify them, words are pretty in themselves, but it takes a real flowerist to make arrangements with them and draw awe; to offer a sense of beauty and spiritual oneness with nature.
The other because it is he or she that will ultimately cast judgment, draw conclusions and offer words that will reflect its reaction to that which as been read. The reader, I fear, is an unwelcome gardener that pulls weeds and prune trees. It plants seeds where none perhaps are needed. It comes and disturbs the peace of the bed where I toil the soil. Although more and more I come to see this stranger as a welcome part of the ecosystem. Like bee’s and other insects who bring pollen to my lot, I am amused at how flowers I thought I never sowed suddenly sprout adding color and delight to my otherwise green collection.
I have come to realize that it is good to be cultivated.