The morning after, everything was drenched in a carpet of rain drops and cobwebs. It was a surreal canvas to wake up to after last night’s events and its ultimate finality. Narrowing in on what we deemed to be impossible, we discovered things that ought to have remained hidden. Perhaps in another lifetime progress would have led to much needed freedom, the type which is almost inaccessible in most places; the freedom of the soul.
Languishing before us
was the statuesque and ethereal silhouette of one Gretchen Harris. Her hazel
eyes brimmed with tears reserved for lost loves, in this case in the form of
Sam Parker. They’d met long ago when they were wild eyed kids ready to take on
the world. At some point their paths diverted, one destined for despair, and
the other leading to certain demise. Their story is the type written about by
lost dreamers and subject matter experts in the art of melancholy.
In 1911, the Davis mine
caved-in, killing 120 men. By the mid 1930s only the blacksmith shop and 150
cellar holes remained where homes once stood. The mine is the epicenter of all
things related to Gretchen, Sam and myself. The aftermath of the cave-in is
embedded in the residents of this remote town. The once prosperous area is now occupied
by shadows, silence and desolation. And it is in the midst of this desolation
that our story, steeped in melancholy, begins.
Dim
light of my despair
Restless
in nature
Intimately
aware
That
my departure is unlikely
That
I can no longer breathe air
In
shadowy corners
In
paths we’ve crossed
The
allure seems brightest
The
emptiness divorced
Dim
light of my despair
Stay
awake for me
Stay
always with me
Till
I can once again breathe air
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