Like a powerful swirling turret that spirals into a tight knot of violent singularity, I feel the tides of this small town closing in.

To truly find good writing, I think it must come from the heart and there has been an increasing and steady weight tugging at mine. Although I love and honor the close community that spawned me, it is undeniable that the longer I live in this small town, the smaller it seems to get.

There is no such thing as ambiguity for any resident walking down their main street here. In this remote place of ours, a random encounter of arbitrary insignificance will quickly enough become one of recurring consequence.

Walking down the street you’ll pass an acquaintance and depending upon your last parting impression, you may receive a greeting of friendly casualness or an obligation of awkward courtesy.

It can sometimes be difficult to do a thing openly because so many other people’s considerations would take effect. My country boy philosophy tells me this: the less you splash the water, the easier it will be to catch a fish.

It may feel like we were born on some deserted island, but I’m pretty sure that the discontentment in one’s life is rarely a mere product of their environment. So naive and eager to desperately cast off, I set my sails a top a dark sea in the middle of the night. It’s no wonder then that life’s currents have taken me to and fro, yet for all my blind determination, I’ve washed back up on the same shore.