The day kisses the clouds goodnight, as the heavens quiet from an airshow in town. The screeches of airplanes, literally louder than cracking thunder, pulled the afternoon into thin strings for anxiety-edged ears. Standing in the warm, humid air, I was pulled back into my childhood. The roaring jets placed me in the volunteer tent at a similar show in New York. The great field was a mess of people and distant fences where planes were resting their wings as the odd helicopter cycled visitors over the massive event. Concrete and tarmac everywhere that was not huge stretches of near-dead grass. All of it was trodden by tennis shoes, military-issued boots, and delicate sandals, while many consumed the free water bottles and cheap granola bars the volunteer tents handed out. My eleven-year old eyes followed the uniforms running about in awe, even the normal shorts and tank top outfits a little foreign to my modest upbringing.
The memory is not worthless, nor surprising as both memories served a concurrent passage- an air show. It is literally my mind saying ‘oh, this? you have seen it before.’
Ray Bradbury wrote ‘Jump!’ dozens of years ago at the end of an overt preface to a book which found its way into my hands a week ago, and I have still yet to read entirely. However, the moment I read the word, my poly-dactyl cat jumped onto my desk. Suddenly I smelled my chamomile mint tea touched with honey, still too hot to drink; I felt the ache in my shoulders from leaning over a computer keyboard too long; I watched the cat stride over a cluttered desk – and wondered. ‘I just read this…’ In one word, which was defined in the first movement seconds before.
Now it is a coincidence, and not a wrong conclusion to draw. Yet such coincidences have made for beautiful creations. Such coincidences rise strong in the last day of the month for yours truly, the sky-screaming jets rattling memories through my very core. The jumping from one memory to another – from a plastic white tent to a huge mulberry bush – is the launching of stories to be shared. In these moments, I can almost hear the voices of centuries ago calling the world to ‘Jump!’
Mr. Bradbury meant his readers to push off themselves- and I am pushing off of my own spark in order to dig a little deeper. For a seed must be buried before it can grow.
This is a simple introduction – but it was a lovely moment which I hope you find value in. See you on the other side. Thank you for reading, for I am sincerely,
Lydia Grace
References:
- Bradbury, Ray. Zen in the Art of Writing, Joshua Odell Editions, Santa Barbara, CA, 1996, pp. xv-xv.
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