Tell Me a Story

“Tell me a story.

In this century, and moment, of mania, tell me a story.

Make it a story of great distances, and starlight.

The name of the story will be time,

But you must not speak its name.

Tell me a story of deep delight.”  ―    Robert Penn Warren

I’d love to tell you a story.  About a forrest.  Or a city block.  A doctors office.  Maybe a walk with a child.  Oh, I’d tell you a story if only I could.

I’m bursting at the seems with words that are screaming in my head with the desire to live and walk through a musty forrest in fall with the smell of rotting leaves and the fading light of summer.  My desire is like a pressure pushing against my skin from the inside that makes my mind race wild and unfocused.

I see photographs, such as this…

…and I want to expound on the situation that lands a lost boy wandering through the desolation.  I want to feel the night breeze climb into his hoodie while he shivers at the chill.  I want to hear crickets and a dog in the distance.  I want to taste a bonfire that blackens the sky to the east.  And see lights that shine in the west.

Or perhaps a story about an impending meeting on this bench.

A woman watches the bench waiting for him to arrive.  She won’t make the first move and sit down because her insides are shivering with anxiety about the news she needs to share.  Bad news. And she not sure how he’s going to take it.  So she waits and wonders.  And paces…

Oh, there is a story here.  Through the eyes of the man who took the photograph and is watching them.  A simple picnic on the side of the road with his family.

Or maybe they aren’t his family.  Perhaps his brother’s family.  His brother who spends more time chasing money than playing with his kids or loving his wife.  Had he been home where he belonged, with his beautiful wife and her soft lips…

I’d love to tell you a story.  Or the stories would love to tell themselves.  But I have two more weeks until I can allow myself to sit down and listen.  Until then, I must focus on the words of “Grace and Gloria”.  Someone elses words.  Until then…


About author A. Lynn

A. Lynn has enjoyed the craft of writing since she finished the songs in Barry Manilow's songs as a five year old, prancing around her grandparents rural farm. Her style has changed as she's grown up. In the past ten years, she's experimented until finding her style and voice. Now, she's ready to take an effort to share her stories with the world. View all posts by author A. Lynn

One response to “Tell Me a Story

  • karenselliott

    The bulk of pictures I see, of the variety you have listed here (especially the first one!) make me think dark thoughts, only because I love to write horror. Some photos and paintings reach deep into my creativity. Photos are great for prompt writing!

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