Journey Toward Light

I'm not sure when it really began, but I discovered that The Little Red Car had been winking (one headlight burned out) at the Big Guys on the highway.

I could have none of that. I recalled having received a Christmas present in the form of a traffic ticket, one very dark night in a neighboring town ... because my car had a burned out headlight. But that's another story.

We steered Little Red in the direction of our favorite repair shop/sales venture, and, within minutes, had the problem fixed and we were on our way again ... out in the world of bumper cars.

The plot thickens.

Later, when Little Red backed out of its garage again, I noticed something unusual. Little Red was winking again. Same headlight.

Back to the repair shop. We were greeted warmly and directed to the waiting room ... climbed the familiar stairs to the upper floor ... went down the corridor ... and found the waiting room full to overflowing.

We took a couple of seats out in the sales area.

Within minutes we were approached by a young man ... He wanted to know if we owned Little Red. Aha, I thought, that was quick service.

Well, said the young man, he'd like to buy it ... because he had a family friend who was looking for just such a car ... and, wonder of wonders, he was in the business of SELLING cars, and could fix US up with a brand spanking new model for a very good price (at this point he handed me his card).

Sadly, I informed him that we were rather attached to Little Red, and weren't really in the market for a new car.

He left. We sat. About 45 minutes later, I discovered two seats had opened up in the waiting room. We hurried in, and I picked up a magazine(December, 2006), memorized its contents, then went for another which appeared in better shape (October, 2006).

Days passed. Actually, about half an hour.

I decided to check with the bookkeeping department to see if our paperwork had come up yet. Nobody there. Apparently there is nobody there on Saturday.

Back to the waiting room. Time passed. A call over the loudspeaker, for Mr. and Mrs. Allen to report to the service desk. Nobody moved. Minutes later, another call for Mr. and Mrs. Allen. And another.

Something told me to check with bookkeeping again. Still nobody there.

Throwing caution to the wind, I opened the door to the repair shop and stepped out on the landing.

"Mr. ALLEN!" beamed the young woman behind the counter on the floor below. "Come on DOWN!" I didn't see Mr. Allen there with me ... and I had planned to venture down anyway ... so I did.

When I arrived at the counter, the young woman said, "I only need your signature, Mr. Allen ... no charge ... and you're all set to go."

I looked at the paperwork. It DID have a place on it for Mr. Allen to sign.

"But I'm Mr. BRIMM," I advised her.

Uh-oh.

Anyway, the car WAS ready to go, she assured me ... and when I asked her if she needed MY signature, she said that wouldn't be necessary ... in fact, wadded up the paperwork I had just been asked to sign ... and may have tossed it over her shoulder. (I'm not sure about that last detail).

We checked Little Red before we left the premises this time ... Yep, both eyes (er, headlights) bright as could be ... And we never caught a glimpse of Mr. Allen, whoever he might be.

All of which, finally, brings us to today's poem:

JOURNEY TOWARD LIGHT

Great caravans

of words go tracking

across the sands

of my mind, seeking

an oasis where

pencil scratchings

will record them

at rest, gathering

strength for journeys

toward sound, music

of poetry, warm light

of understanding.

© 1999

(originally published in A New Song)

***

Today's word: light

Afterthoughts ... in response to your comments:

Thank you, Helen, for persisting and posting that comment. It's always helpful to have your added perspective ... and encouragement. I like your comparison of writing and painting, and how ideas go on to fruition.