Deck with a View

A Deck With A View:

Heron's Perch

I watched it glide in

From across the lake

Silent stable flight

Then landing

Upon a pontoon perch

Like a tightrope walker

Part trapeze artist,

And zen master

Poised precariously

Between the elements

Air, water, land.

In a moment

I was immersed

In silent revery

This icon of tranquility.

Then, without warning

It lept into the lake

Splashing

Took flight again

Entering a strafing pattern

Inches above the water

Towards marshes on a distant shore.

Perhaps hunger drove it

Though in twilight

It prefers to hunt

In solitude it teaches

Patience, and awareness

Of a present now

In which there is no past or future.

And in a last glimpse of flight

I felt a calming breeze

Knowing I learned a lesson

From the master

Who sits aware

Of my life

With its elements

Of joy, sorrow, and despair

Telling  me not to worry

That life is but a transition

From one plain to another

That solitude is profound

Togetherness a gift

Awareness a silent pleasure

Only the seeking have found

Upon a heron's perch.

D.A. Wittler 6/30/18

Atwood Lake Indiana

Coming of Age as A Writer

Into the Long Night

An excerpt from:

The Rolltop Chronicles

(An unfinished novel)

By D.A. Wittler

I want to share with you a journey that began many years ago in my head. It is a tale of a young man who began to realize his view of the world was slightly skewed. It took the promptings, sufferings, and persistence of his senior year in high school for him to see himself in a new light as a writer, and not just a shy kid with no future ahead, and his father's legacy behind. And so the story begins in another time, another place, and in the mind of someone else…

Into the Long night she drove. Bitterness biting at her nose beneath a woolen scarf. Steam rising from a restless breath heaving from inside her. And then there was the driving snow accumulating in drifts along a deserted stretch of country road. “There would be no plows for hours, or even days along this forgotten thouroughfare” she thought, as there were mainly summer homes, and hidden cottages enveloped in an adirondike like forest in upstate New York..

“I have forgotten summer” she mused as her soul flung itself along an uncertain path of self loathing, and dread in a storm unrelenting. The old house would bring some comfort from the cold, but it could not replace the sense of loss clinging to her like intricate designs on a bay window; dark, and silent. Finally there appeared a light, and way home.

She thought to herself “Within this refuge I will find myself lost in memory of trivial things, and wayward sons on divergent trails of hope, and despair, and there is nothing more I can do but pray for their salvation. If there is a happily ever after in each life they aspire to, then what more can a sister, or a father do but hope?”

Once Upon A Dream

A few thoughts:
 I went to sleep, and dreamt a tangled life where there were ornate bird houses hung within it's branches. I heard a sermon being preached, and a good book lying open to so many blind pages falling to the floor. I saw unfettered spaces, and people walking different paces along a path of overgrown weeds, and I wondered why a life of faith must be so complicated when the birds know perfectly well how to fly without these chains of worry, work, and fear that keep us hidden beneath the shadows of a brilliant life of sun, and moon, and a billion beckoning stars  that beg us to see beyond the falling sky. "To life!" I cried; in spite of the ringing in my ears, and the desperation of simply breathing.

D.A. Wittler 6/8/18

Granny Knows

Granny Knows

I hear granny speaking
Like a lonely voice from another room Chimming in every fifteen minutes on the hour
"Welcome home, welcome home"
And I remember when...

Today is here
Tomorrow gone
Those fleeting moments arise
Spontaneous time
Opportunities forgotten
Hope renewed
Regrets recycled as compost
From yesterday's news
Yet memory continues
Reshaping every mistake I've ever made
Striving for perfection
Yet finding rage
Because it is not within me.

I am a fractured piece of pottery
Thrown from a wheel
Baked, and polished
Then soiled
Washed again, and again in perpetuity
Screaming to be heard, and recognized!

I am that sentence striking a chord
Every day of my existence with a word
Noone else has heard
But granny knows my lament
Chimes in every chance she gets
As I pull on chains of perpetual motion
Of time, space, and gratitude.

D.A. Wittler  3/28/18 

..

Maybe I'm Just Getting Old

So it's 06:30 on a Saturday morning, and I'm wide awake. Nothing that a couple of beers, and pizza can do to ruin a good night's sleep, eh? Well, that's exactly how it has been since I realized I maybe just getting old. Even though I had every good intention of dozing off on the couch, the minute I crawled into bed the symptoms crept in with a tickle in the throat, and a third shifter's grin: “Yeah, right, I'm gonna sleep tonight.”

Thank God for Facebook, and a few thoughts that always seem to race into my mind when the moment calls, or I'd be sitting here staring at four walls, and desperation. So I guess it is time to make the best out of a typical situation, now that maybe I'm just getting old.

Maybe I've realized that it's not about the accumulation of years on these bones, but a lifestyle that has finally taken it's toll, or perhaps it's a little of both that made me roll out of a perfectly warm bed, and onto a wonderfully cold couch. Maybe I really am just getting old, who knows?

And then I reach a point on this solitary note that some things are inevitable, like having to run to the bathroom in the middle of the night. None the less, I wouldn't mind so much if that dream I was having would restart where it had left off, and I could slip back into slumber like I had hoped at 10:30 last night. Maybe I'm just getting old.

So, one last thought, perhaps not, perhaps a proper salutation like good night, or good day, good grief, it's only 6:48 in the morning, guess I'll stay up, and make coffee instead!

Barriers Of Genius

A few thoughts:
As midnight tolls from a distance, I hear those voices speak from an inner solitude. To the common man of his time genius is hidden like a road sign we see so often on our way. It becomes so familiar with it's presence along the road that we almost heed to it's message before we even comprehend it's meaning. We take for granted how it may have saved a life, or simply gave direction to a stranger passing through. That is how we become complacent in our day to day routine.
Sometimes we discount our own worth by that pessimistic voice in our head that says "I can't take any more" or "I'm not good enough."
How would it be if we stopped for a moment, and took it all in, and truly listened?
 Believe in the gift given, look up, and see the night sky as never before. Imagine possibilities only dreamt of in a restless sleep. Count stars as blessings, and problems as opportunities. Grow like the wild flower in a remote place far from the gardener's hoe, or the plowman's pruning hook. See the genius of your vision, and break through barriers of self doubt and, societal scope. Know that in your own unique way, a sign post has been driven just for you for others to follow. Good night.

Meaningless Noise

A Few Thoughts:

Just one of those days, a frigid February day;
when I would rather gather no moss, like a rolling stone, but my butt is still frozen to this chair, and I wonder if I care, or dare to mention it doesn't matter to me who won the Superbowl.
Friend, if all we have in common is brief conversation about the weather, work, or the scores from last night, then we really have failed to mention that life is about more than dull improvisation that we care when we're just too damb caught up in our own situation to dig deeper into the intricate details that make us who we are as human beings. Blame our parents, blame our schools for not giving us enough tools to talk face to face, because hell, now we have Facebook, and who needs the art of true communication?
And again I wonder where I'm going when I know where I've been; it's with you my friend that we'll sit beside a crackling fire, have a drink, and share our desire to be more than a profile on a page in cyberspace. So tell me your story, and I'll lend you my ears, and life will transcend all those empty years we filled with meaningless noise.
God bless,
Witt