Claiming My Space

Claiming My Space 

Darren Johnson finally turned off the TV. Sitting in his living room with the ceiling fan spinning lazily, air-conditioner on, windows and doors closed against the heat, he had actually managed to get cold. As the street lights came on and the sun no longer blazed, he stepped onto the front porch. The air was heavy and moist. Traffic thinned with only the occasional car passing slowly on the soft asphalt. Although blessed to have air conditioning in his home, the tightness of his closed up home had begun to feel as stifling as the heat that still lingered. A glass of sweating ice tea in hand, the open porch with wilting plants and silent wicker furniture, he breathed deeply of the heavy evening air. Birds were silent except for a single night bird high in the trees of his front yard. The evening was calm, yet there was a feeling that he couldn’t pinpoint. He wanted to move, to get out on the road and walk. Restless, he paced on his porch avoiding the darkness falling on the land.

A sudden gust of wind set his rocking chair moving. Sitting in the chair he moved with the rocker. It was the TV news reports. They were the restlessness. Slowing the rocker, he took control of the moment,  his time and his space. "What's happening in the world, outside of my world, is gonna happen whether I watch it or not. Whether I worry or not. The world of politics and global affairs? Not my world.  My principles are my own." As Darren sipped his ice tea, the cold glass and the creak of the rocking chair connected him to the evening and the setting sun while the nightbird sang.

“Watching television is like taking black spray paint to your third eye.”
~ Bill Hicks

Author's note: Edited February 03, 2024