Wild Things

This was my July 22nd entry into @SensualStories #Journaling Game. You can see the original post on her web site. People on Twitter submit phrases, which she posts. Then anyone who feels inclined can write a short piece using one of the phrases. The stories are posted on her website for comment. Most, but not all, the stories are somewhat erotic, but it's a great writing exercise, especially if you're trying to get back into the flow of writing stories. The phrase was one I had submitted myself, “Where the wild things are is where I am most at home.”—Kim Antieau, in de Lint’s “Memory and Dream”.

Where the wild things are is where I am most at home. Amid the hills, where life is green and growing, and the morning mists withdraw to expose valleys far below. I don’t belong in the shadows of cold buildings, where green is a whisper in a sidewalk, and pigeons peck in listless preparation for rebirth as office workers at their keyboards. But not all that is wild wears fur or feathers. I heard the cry of her heart from afar, felt the wild soul that fluttered within. She would not come to me, and so I was drawn here, to these dark domesticated canyons. Like a wild stallion, I had scented the lure of the saddled mare. I knew the risk to my heart, but I could not stay away.

This piece took an interesting twist. Later in the summer I was at a music camp and wanted to write a song. This seemed like an interesting place to start. You can listen to me playing the final result here. I have the lyrics and chords written up on my computer, but I need to update them with a few last minute changes. I'll post them online when I do.