I'm not a big fan of things happening suddenly. I prefer a more gradual pace, giving me plenty of time to adjust to any changes or revisions in my universe. As I've said in many prior posts, I don't like anything that even smacks of the unexpected.
Billy Collins, on the other hand, is often taken by surprise . . .
Tension
by: Billy Collins
create tension.
— Writing Fiction
Suddenly, you were planting some yellow petunias
outside in the garden,
and suddenly I was in the study
looking up the word oligarchy for the thirty-seventh time.
When suddenly, without warning,
you planted the last petunia in the flat,
and I suddenly closed the dictionary
now that I was reminded of that vile form of governance.
A moment later, we found ourselves
standing suddenly in the kitchen
where you suddenly opened a can of cat food
and I just as suddenly watched you doing that.
I observed a window of leafy activity
and beyond that, a bird perched on the edge
of the stone birdbath
when suddenly you announced you were leaving
to pick up a few things at the market
and I stunned you by impulsively
pointing out that we were getting low on butter
and another case of wine would not be a bad idea.
Who could tell what the next moment would hold?
another drip from the faucet?
another little spasm of the second hand?
Would the painting of a bowl of pears continue
to hang on the wall from that nail?
Would the heavy anthologies remain on the shelves?
Would the stove hold its position?
Suddenly, it was anyone's guess.
The sun rose ever higher in the sky.
The state capitals remained motionless on the wall map
when suddenly I found myself lying on a couch
where I closed my eyes and without any warning
began to picture the Andes, of all places,
and a path that led over the mountains to another country
with strange customs and eye-catching hats,
each one suddenly fringed with colorful little tassels.
I took today off from my job at the library. That doesn't mean I sat around contemplating the hairs on my toes. I kept myself insanely busy, working on a book tour for November, shopping for ice cream cake, practicing music for church services, taking my puppy for a long walk. None of those things, by the way, were surprises, in case you were wondering.
It is Saint Marty's Day Eve. I hope you've all bought your Saint Marty's day presents, baked your Saint Marty's Day cookies, trimmed your Saint Marty's Day trees, and watched How the Grinch Stole Saint Marty's Day. Maybe you even pulled up an album on iTunes of Bing Crosby singing some Saint Marty's Day carols like "White Saint Marty's Day" and "I Heard the Bells on Saint Marty's Day." And don't forget to make a pot of the traditional Saint Marty's Day treat--tapioca pudding--for tomorrow's celebrations.
The sky blazed orange at dusk tonight. No surprise there, though. For the last week or so, the sunrises and sunsets have been stunning. I've finished all my work for the day. Now, mamma in her kerchief and I in my cap are just settling our brains for a long autumn nap. Barring anything unforeseen, I will soon brush my teeth and get ready for bed, where visions of tapioca will dance in my head.
No suddenly this Saint Marty's Day, which exactly the way that Saint Marty likes it.
