Scarecrow

I could get a lot accomplished in the driving rain.  Like clearing my mind.  Like escaping my secrets.

There's something about that road; just me in my car on that poorly lit road. 
There's something about playing that radio with a specific song on repeat.

I get a lot accomplished when I find myself alone.  Like remembering how it was.  Like dreaming how it will be.

Nobody said it was easy.
No one ever said it would be so hard.

And I'm stuck on those two phrases. 

I've always wondered why when we are feeling down, we choose music that holds us down.  You'll never find Shiny Happy People on the playlist of the lonely. 

The devil is called the prince of the air.  When negative energy such as sadness fills this vacuum; it is he we feed. 

I was sitting in church; buried in a sea of crucifixes.  At 15, it's the last place, I wanted to be.  And it occurred to me, at that moment, how that sweet symbol of salvation is lost as it dangles on the necks of the self-righteous.  If the woman I love was bludgeoned to death with a hammer, would I wear some shiny piece of silver in the shape of a hammer to remember her suffering?

These are the thoughts that I accomplish in the driving rain.

On that poorly lit road, I always come to the same conclusion.  I conclude we are masochistic at best and sadists at heart.  Like a herd of cattle, we will trample each other at the mere rumor of danger. 

Where have you gone Joe Dimaggio?  A nation turns its lonely eyes to you.

I was shirtless and barefoot behind the wheel.  Like a drunk captain of her own ship.  But I had a destination in mind.  It was the perfect moment to tell her I love her. 

There's something about our spirit when our defenses are down.  There's something about leaving our pride in the backseat when we have nothing to lose.

It doesn't mean much.
It doesn't mean anything at all.

I can find clarity in the driving rain.  I come alive off that beaten path. 

There's this field across from my old home; governed by a makeshift scarecrow.  And it's funny to me.  He just stands there;  all day, all night.  And sometimes, I find myself in that neighborhood hoping for one last glimpse of the ghost that left us on a gloomy night in September.

And I swear that scarecrow is telling me something.  Those dead eyes see straight through me.  If the moon casts its shadow just perfectly as I sit in my car, I will wave at that scarecrow.  And I know, it's an exercise in futility but sometimes, friends are the ones who never talk.  Or judge.  


And strangely, I empathize with him.  How lonely he must be.  He exists merely to manifest fear. 

I don't want to be a scarecrow.  I don't want to manifest fear or give into the fear emanating from a world of scarecrows.

I could get a lot accomplished in the driving rain. 

Like being cleansed from all this filth.

Like clearing my mind.

There's something about that poorly lit road.  Where my Creator shows me the world with a new set of eyes.  Where the prince of the air chokes on his own bile.

And I find clarity, at last.
And a tear rolls down my cheek.

And the scarecrow waves back.