Canvassing

"It all begins with the daunting blank page." Old. (September 2010)

I remember, in the earliest days, you held me and I you, the same primal act of protection we had always known. It was once, back then, that a foreign concept struck me. I broke away, and upon standing, suddenly everything had meaning to it. First thought begat the death of pure instinct; with it came as well the initial mar on a flawless surface: a static pool of silver.

"Life," I said to you, "is a daunting blank page." How profound first words can be.

You stood, smiled, and the smallest specks of yellow began to spatter the horizon, to a place just out of our sight.

"Let's explore it." As those velvet words emerged from your lips, a rich violet mist appeared high above us, the looming birth of communication hovering as wistfully as the words we spoke.

Some time between those moments we felt our first emotions. Happiness was a glowing light, flitting about us. Love (which had forever been within us but was only then realized) coated our breaths with a blue hue that left smoky trails in its wake.

Some moments were more fearsome than others. I would have hold of your hand, have you in my sight, but feel still so far away. Those moments were swift, shaggy ticks of a deep green scaling every surface.

Before even a first step, there was invasion upon our world. Welcome intruders of our own unwitting creation, that we chose to embrace and examine. We went about as pupils and gods. Each discovery changed our perception, drove us forward without the knowledge of a past.

Over time, the page on which we resided had undergone a metamorphosis. Though as daunting as ever before, it is simply different.

Life was once a daunting blank page. We were upon it together each day, conquering and comprehending. We danced on unmarked lands, convinced of our purity and proud at heart; goodness seeped into and out of us as we breathed, never quite in balance.