Where They Wait

by Scott Carson

It is far easier to seek power than to forsake it.

My days are my own. I treasure the sunlit hours. I write, I wander, I watch. It is a beautiful and fascinating world.

A dreaming man now, I have developed a fresh gratitude for dawn.

This is the rhythm of my life. The island comes and goes, night becomes day, dreams and memories change hands. Familiar faces become foreign, dire moments become distant, and the only thing I can be sure of is that I’m sure of nothing at all, which leaves a great capacity for hope.

I hope that maybe the worst of this world is imagined, and the best of it assured. It is so easy to become fearful when you are alone in the dark. When the sun emerges in the east and the last of the blackness recedes, it is possible to believe that too much weight was granted to fear, and too little allocated to hope. This is, of course, the gift of dreams.