Tag Archives: Metaphor

She’s Wild, Deeply Wild

She’s wild, deeply wild. A feral and hot restlessness inside of her; she’s driven and strong. She can do things that others cannot. She feels near-constant yearning mixed with frustration. She gets things done and well. But, things move too slow for her. When she wants something, she wants it now. She wants it fast and lasting. She wants to feel it in every cell, every sinew, every pore and plane. She wants to carry experience inside of her and hold it forever.

field

What she really wants is pure freedom, peace, a life of contemplation, a life of feeling, but she doesn’t get to experience very much of this. She can’t have what she really wants because, well, it would ruin the current state of things. She would have to turn her back on the predictable, known present and head into the cool, silent, and mossy unknown of a different reality, a new way of being and that’s just too scary. But, the vista beyond the fence, calls to her, daily. And, like every other day, she looks away, throws herself into the tasks of which she’s demanded. She charges ahead with energy, fire, passion, and courage. She does her job and doesn’t complain. 

She does not utter her deepest dreams and desires. She just thinks about them over and over. Obsessively. Twisting the thoughts, wringing from each one, a small drop of nectar that she can taste and then feel spreading through her like sugar on oats. She holds her fantasies in and reveals only the barest hint of that dense world inside, the universe behind her large, dark eyes, her full lips showing a soft, half-smile. She is an utter mystery to most. But, don’t mistake her oft sanguine expression as an indicator of purity. She’s utterly wild, prone to fierce desires, deeply ingratiating, untamed, and aching desires. She is nuclear.

oats

Her fire, her panting restlessness is only calmed by three things: (A) Being alone with the earth. For example, standing on a remote mountain or a beach or at the edges of a lake or on some lonely, tree-lined path with no one else in sight, staring into the wide sky, regardless of the weather, (B) Movement, be it dancing, walking, hiking, or riding and (C) Looking into his eyes. When she sees him, the one to whom she does not belong, her skin ripples with excitement; she dances across the grass toward him and greets him with all of herself. His eyes have this crazy ability to immediately bring her to the center of herself, help her simply be there in that moment. And, the moments with him are sacred, soft as grass, and fleeting, but she doesn’t care. Seeing him walking toward her with some delectable gift in each hand, holds her here, keeps her steady, keeps her working. Will she ever be truly tamed? Possibly. But, if so, he’s the only one who can do it. And, he knows this. He knows.

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Years and years ago, I took a four-week fiction writing class. One of the exercises the teacher gave us was to write a biography of someone or something. At the time, I wrote a biography for a stretch of road. I know, it’s weird, right? But, it was so much fun to imagine the road as a sentient being with its own thoughts, emotions, and needs. So, I was sitting here thinking about the class and the exercise and thought that I’d try it again. Can you guess the protagonist of the above story?