Ivory Tower

Maybe what I need is a change in viewpoint. Patiently I sit waiting inside my proverbial watchtower, positioned on higher ground, a superior vantage point to gaze out across the waterholes and savannahs through binoculars and filtered lenses. My elevation achieves wide-angled exposure with maximum depth of field. A bird’s eye if you will, dare I say ivory tower. Stilted arrogance I hang above the wet grass unable to get my feet wet in the early mornings’ condensation. I fear my view places the animals so firmly beneath me. Despite the early rise and crisp air, the visibility is less than adequate. I fear the details escape such a disconnected narrative, the characters explored from a distance, their arcs are weak, lacking substance, obscured in general constructs they neither permit nor negate inclusion.

This watchtower impresses such purpose, to watch and tower both operative words. I seem to have a firm grasp of the obvious in the compound. Dare I descend into the folly of nature’s fruits, oblivion of primordial instinct, incapable direction, a slave to Gaia’s balance in the order of things. Predetermined subjugation of universal law and order, a predestined exclusion guised in free will as fate would have me put it, ironic plunder of ill-conceived gifts we never had a choice, to begin with. Feels a bit like I am throwing excuses around the room like a dead cat, I seem to be losing myself in embellished analogy, such superfluous indulgence. The art of misdirection I am getting lost in the artful dodger. A practical guide in artful dodging.