A GHOST TOWN
It’s a beautiful sound really… I’m usually alone when I hear it… That sound almost speaks to you it seems – It calls gently to remind us of our solitary solace. It sounds different in that old town as it passes through, it brings a slight chill, regardless of the temperature.
I listened as the breeze easily changed octaves as it whispered to me. The old town is always something right out of an old movie. The old wooden planks are worn and cupped, the nails blood rust barely visible from the long past days of usefulness. The once proud planks are now grey with age, cracked and shrunken. The spaces between the cladding create the instrument the wind uses for its soft orchestra.
I listened as the notes floated softly through the air – the high notes come with the strongest gusts. It sings the climax of its natural desert song and falls softly into lower tones as the invisible conductor breaks. It’s not just a lonely desert song… It’s a dusty musical.
As I stood with my back to the conductor, I watched the power of the desert song demonstrate its might. The wind picked up loose top soil and spread it like a blanket, dragging it just above the earth, sweeping the dry main street, but yet never cleaning it.
As the music whispered haunting tones the dead cast members took their turns on the stage of the once proud street. The tumbleweeds varied in size and shape. They matched the melodic sound and timing of the wind. Some paused as if to take a bow before the faint howling pushed them onward, as if run out of town by the courageous and powerful sheriff. Once the tumbleweeds cleared the town limits they picked up speed, looking as though the dread of the old town motivated them until long out of sight.
As the wind continued its cantata one of the few living things joined in, but never at the perfect timing of the conductor. Their high-pitched additions only added to the dreadful drama of empty. The crickets didn’t have the sheet music but added like hecklers to the play of life.
When the occasional high-speed and pitch hit the old town like a cymbal, I heard the groans of rubbing metal. Sometimes the gust was enough to blow both swinging saloon doors inward, striking the adjacent inside walls with a hollow thud. The hinges shrieking softly the need for lubricant as if the tumbleweeds, crickets, or wind would dare to care.
The eerie orchestra plays over and over. It doesn’t matter how many times I’ve participated in the show, it still brings out the raw emotion hiding just under the surface… I’m the only one watching… I look for a sign of life, something to inspire me, but only the goosebumps of empty crawling slowly up my spine are revealed.
Sometimes I’m saved by the distant sound of another world, a voice, a ringing phone, anything in the present world that pulls me out of the ghost town I’m trapped inside within my mind. The ordinary yellow legal pad of paper and one of my favorite pens get the day off…
Some days it’s just a ghost town…
Hazel Moon
Sunday, March 3, 2013 @ 7:37 pm
Lost in thought here, chimes and whistles blowing and reality setting in. The alarm went off and the coffee was ready, time to begin another day!
Floyd
Monday, March 4, 2013 @ 7:04 am
Ha! Exactly, Hazel! That’s what it seems like sometimes doesn’t it? In some cases for me it might be “saved by the bell!”
Lynn Morrissey
Sunday, March 3, 2013 @ 9:00 pm
Oh I love these beautiful descriptions about the ghost town and the wind. And the emptiness metaphor is powerful. YOu’re such a strong, wonderful writer, Floyd! And I’m not sure why, but I am suddenly reminded of that wonderful song from Paint Your Wagon called, They Call the Wind Mariah! Love that.
Blessings
Lynn
Floyd
Monday, March 4, 2013 @ 7:05 am
I love that song too. You reminded me of it some time back. Not sure if those aren’t the types of things that inspire us. Thanks for all of your inspiration and encouragement, Lynn. That song is gonna be stuck in my head all day!
Lynn Morrissey
Sunday, March 3, 2013 @ 9:00 pm
Oh I love these beautiful descriptions about the ghost town and the wind. And the emptiness metaphor is powerful. YOu’re such a strong, wonderful writer, Floyd! And I’m not sure why, but I am suddenly reminded of that wonderful song from Paint Your Wagon called, They Call the Wind Mariah! Love that.
Blessings
Lynn
Lynn Morrissey
Sunday, March 3, 2013 @ 9:07 pm
Sorry, Floyd! My hand slipped and I repeated the post, like a stutter. Here’s the song to which I refer, in case you don’t know it: http://search.yahoo.com/search;_ylt=AuhSCDbyzD7NfSOEw0IIbdebvZx4?p=they+call+the+wind+mariah&toggle=1&cop=mss&ei=UTF-8&fr=yfp-t-200
I thnk of this line: “But I am lost, so goll-dern lost, not even God can find me!” Oh, aren’t we glad that God can *indeed* find us! We don’t need to go wandering aimlessly anymore. He finds us, redeems us, and keeps us. Praise Him!
Fondly,
LYnn
bill (cycleguy)
Monday, March 4, 2013 @ 3:28 am
If I’m not mistaken Lynn my parents had a recording of that song by Johnny Mathis or Robert Goulet. They loved the lounge singers. π Please correct me if I’m wrong on the singer.
Floyd
Monday, March 4, 2013 @ 7:07 am
I’d forgotten the words, but I’m looking forward to hearing that song from the past. There is no being lost once God is within… What a peace that brings. Thanks for sharing this Lynn.
bill (cycleguy)
Monday, March 4, 2013 @ 3:31 am
Being a big fan of Back to the Future, I do a lot of this dreaming. I wonder what it would be like to go back in time to see my younger self and tell him “don’t look at that magazine” or “don’t do that stupid thing” or “spend more time cultivating the inner man.” I get lost in the haze of that sometimes. Like Doc Brown, I have had a fascination with the Old West. I wonder what it would have been like to have lived as a pastor/parson in those days. Okay, time to get out of the dream back to reality. Rats!
Floyd
Monday, March 4, 2013 @ 7:09 am
What a gift imagination is, huh, Bill? I’m with you, it is a wonderful time spent as long as for the right reasons. Snap back to reality! Thanks, Bill.
Dan Erickson
Monday, March 4, 2013 @ 6:31 am
You’ve done it again, Floyd. Just when I think I’ve read your best work you hit me with a great analogy like this. Great imagery in this piece. I was kind of in a ghost town all weekend. Rather than writing, I semi-mindlessly played with my new Garage Band application on my iPad. Although I was still creating, using the GB app. is a bit mindless compared to playing real instruments. I’ve always had mixed feelings about mechanized music. I’m a purist at heart, but also love the idea of mimicking natural and industrial sounds through programming. But after a few hours of listening to drum machines with heavy effects, my head felt like a ghost town.
Floyd
Monday, March 4, 2013 @ 7:11 am
I think we have to be in that place of deep mental thought to do some of our best thinking, pondering, and work. It is honoring to God to think about things of honor. I also think it’s a time of rest, a recharge of the mind and body. Good for you for stepping out of your purest roots to try new kinds of music. And thanks, Dan.
tcavey
Monday, March 4, 2013 @ 9:59 am
Very poetic.
Last week I was about to go to bed when I noticed the comedy western “Maverick”. I hadn’t watched it in years so I sat and enjoyed. This isn’t usually my type of western, but this one makes me laugh.
As I sat watching I wondered what it really would have been like to live during the 1800’s. Would life be simpler without all the gadgets we have? Would morality be better without all the “entertainment” we corrupt ourselves with?
Then God reminded me of Sodom and Gomorrah…no, morality wouldn’t have been any better. To blame our entertainment industry is a taking a cheap shot. We are each held accountable for our actions and morality.
Sorry, I’m rambling.
Great post.
Floyd
Monday, March 4, 2013 @ 4:53 pm
I agree. It seems that it makes it easier, and it does, but the human heart is the same as it always has been. It’s easy to blame others and some deserve it, but it takes wisdom to be thoughtful of all things and God reveals His truths to us. I’m frankly a little surprised it was from the movie Maverick, but hey! If it works! I too of late seem to be longing for a simpler way of life. It can feel like being on a hamster wheel can’t it? Thanks, TC.
Betty Draper
Monday, March 4, 2013 @ 10:17 am
Great piece of writing Floyd…I could hear the wind and see the tumbleweeds being blown about. I love pioneer stories, use to wish I lived back then, seems so simple. One of my favorite movies is from the “Wild West Collection”, True Women. But living in two third world countries and seeing first hand what it is like to live with out electricity, running water and a near by Wal-mart has taught me to be thankful I was not born then, I am really a whimp.
Are we getting a taste of a future noval???? Who were the charecters who lived in that ghost town…how did they get there…why did it become a ghost town? Just the small glimpes you gave us makes my mind want to know about the people in the town. Even the whimps.
Floyd
Monday, March 4, 2013 @ 5:00 pm
Well the biggest wimp in the story would be me! I’ve had a few tough stretches in my life, of which have stolen the joy of wanting to go camping and living outside! I’m with you. The old days seem romantic until you try to live in the desert without air conditioning and the like. I hadn’t thought of a novel. Hmmmm. You got me thinking, Betty. You always have a way of doing that!
I have finished my last manuscript that I’m in the process of pedaling to agents now. It’s a historical fiction account of the Roman soldier at the foot of the cross that the blood of Christ stains and makes almost immortal to help guide the lost tribes of Israel to the new Promise Land and carry the sword of King David through out time to the last battle…
A western… I like that idea, Betty! Thanks for all you do, sister!
Dan Black
Monday, March 4, 2013 @ 1:36 pm
Beautiful post and analogy. While reading this it reminded me of the different movies I have watched when two people where about to get in a gun fight. Everyone runs away and hides for cover, the wind blows, music starts playing, and in seconds it’s just two people about to do battle.
Floyd
Monday, March 4, 2013 @ 5:09 pm
I’m a sucker for a good old fashioned western too, Dan! This scene unfortunately is just me coming up short as I do sometimes… I described this to my writing friend Keith as “making lemonade out of lemons.” Sometimes I just have to set my pen down and move on. Thanks for that mental picture, Dan. It made me think of The Outlaw Josey Whales, the last scene where Eastwood stands holding his side, blood spilling from it, and the guy who was hunting him and recognizes him says, “I don’t believe no five men could gun down Josey Whales.” Eastwood starts to move into the dusty street to prepare for the gun fight and the man says, “I think he must have lit out for Mexico (or something like that), I think I’ll go find him and tell him that the war (civil) is over… I’ll give him the first move… I owe him that…” Then Eastwood spits his tobacco and finishes, “Yep, I guess we all died a little in that damn war…”
I guess you know my wife hates that movie… Thanks, Dan.
Voni Harris
Monday, March 4, 2013 @ 1:43 pm
Yes! What happens next? You can’t write something as striking as this, then leave us HANGING!
Blessings,
Voni
Floyd
Monday, March 4, 2013 @ 5:14 pm
I’m sorry, Voni! I never thought of that! You know I’m not a deep thinker!!! I was just relating to the sound of the wind and crickets that live in my mind sometimes when I’m trying to write! Maybe I’ll do a part two? An analogy of a gun fight and how it relates to life? What do you think? Thanks, Voni.
Hazel Moon
Monday, March 4, 2013 @ 2:40 pm
Thank you for entering your Ghost Town story at “Tell Me a Story”
Floyd
Monday, March 4, 2013 @ 5:16 pm
Thanks for letting me post on your wonderful sight, “Tell Me A Story.” It’s growing by leaps and bounds! Good for you, Hazel!
Lisa notes
Monday, March 4, 2013 @ 2:58 pm
This hits home with me because I’ve been *trying* to do centering prayer the past few weeks, and it is tough to get to that deep, inner place in my soul where it is quiet. My brain is a noisy, distracted place with too much chitter-chatter about nothing in particular.
Glad you continue to pull out that yellow legal pad and your favorite pen. I have my favorite one, too. π
Floyd
Monday, March 4, 2013 @ 5:21 pm
It’s harder for you because you have a bigger brain, Lisa! I have to say; writing is a way for me to empty my mind from all the stress and grief of a day or week and be somewhere else in order to accomplish hopefully what it is God has for me. There are times like these though that I come up short – empty; like a ghost town. Just thought if I couldn’t be it, I’d join it! That legal pad and pen are comforts aren’t they? That smile tells me the whole story! Thanks, Lisa.
Ngina Otiende
Monday, March 4, 2013 @ 6:30 pm
wow, what a beautiful creative post Floyd. a beautiful picture story of where many of us tread π
Floyd
Monday, March 4, 2013 @ 6:45 pm
Thanks, Ngina. I suspected that I wasn’t the only one whose writing can be analogous with pushing a rope up hill!
Lincoln Parks
Tuesday, March 5, 2013 @ 6:48 am
When I am in that place it takes a while for me to get back. I often am jolted out of that place by something or someone just like you mentioned. It is a Ghost town in there sometimes and I usually call it the “Abyss”. I wonder why we go there sometimes, are we looking for something different? Or is that just the way we were made. So beautifully put. Thanks for sharing.
Floyd
Tuesday, March 5, 2013 @ 7:00 am
The Abyss! Ha! I like it – it’s perfect! It is a place to be lost in our mind for sure. The mind searches for meaning and often sometimes we come up empty for the moment, for me it is often because I’m trying to do it in my flesh. When God’s spirit is in blossom within it’s a different story for me. That’s when it flows like water. Thanks, Lincoln. Well said.
Audra Krell
Tuesday, March 5, 2013 @ 10:29 am
Tremendous writing and story telling Floyd. It’s always a spectacular journey with you. I can just see you with your yellow legal pads. I think it’s huge that you still write long hand, it makes you the artist that you are.
Floyd
Tuesday, March 5, 2013 @ 12:54 pm
Thanks, Audra. And thanks for calling me an “artist” instead of a “Dinosaur!” The latter is probably more accurate! I always appreciate your words… you do have a way with them…
Audra Krell
Tuesday, March 5, 2013 @ 1:04 pm
An artistic Dino maybe? ha ha
Floyd
Tuesday, March 5, 2013 @ 2:30 pm
I’d say that works!
Keith Walker
Wednesday, March 6, 2013 @ 8:19 pm
Floyd. An excellent piece. I think that those of us who write enough to experience the block all have our own image of what that formidable place looks like where the words cease. Your ghost town is haunting. I wanted to point out two pieces of prose I thought wonderfully evocative. “The spaces between the cladding create the instrument the wind uses for itβs soft orchestra.” What a lovely line. The other is “. . . the dreadful drama of empty.” I will confess now, I’m going to steal this. If ever someone catches me with my pen hovering forlorn over the note pad, and they ask what is wrong, I will respond, “I am listening to the dreadful drama of empty.” Well done, sir.
Floyd
Thursday, March 7, 2013 @ 7:50 am
Thanks, Keith. I’m honored to have you steal anything. I’ve stolen a few from you too! Thanks for all the support and I’m looking forward to our new project. Thanks for all the help with all the other manuscripts and work. You’re a true friend.
Joanne Norton
Tuesday, March 12, 2013 @ 4:13 pm
This is true, for you, for me, for many:
“Sometimes Iβm saved by the distant sound of another world, a voice, a ringing phone, anything in the present world that pulls me out of the ghost town Iβm trapped inside within my mind.”
Thanks.
Floyd
Tuesday, March 12, 2013 @ 5:23 pm
We share the same set in our minds! Not too surprising to know you think exactly the same way! Good thing that phone rings huh! We might never get out! Thanks, Joanne.
Sylvia R
Wednesday, March 13, 2013 @ 1:51 pm
What captivating scene painting, Floyd! And yes, good thing the phone rings—also, thank God for yellow legal pads (or the like) and gel pens. Keyboards are fast and versatile, I know, but there’s still something about scribbling it out on some kind of paper that connects more directly to the heart, isn’t there? Great piece.
Floyd
Wednesday, March 13, 2013 @ 6:08 pm
I agree completely. A pen and paper become supernatural. It is an example from God when He wrote the Ten Commandments into the stone. It is our heritage. And yeah, the gel pen of course! Thanks, Sylvia.