Time Never Changes
By: Ross Dale Kelly
October 10, 2008

      Anyway, in a humdrum, it seems that life can tend to get so coated with the colors and sounds and smells and sights and the prickly tension between people of everyday interaction as we walk our way, or drive, or ride a bike through the pressure surrounding our every act. And sometimes, it seems that we can get quite caught up in the seemingly simple or complex sensation of this type of action. This is the reason I love fall, the leaves falling through the air, different colors and all, blowing in the pick-me-up breeze of such a season.

      This makes it so easy to sit inside my room, on a wooden chair, leaning back and forward through the soft sensation of the floor carpet, filled with different colors of all sorts, grays and blacks, all sorting to a soft warm tan. The colors on the drywall coated room lift the colors from off the floor in a deep yellow with white trim, but in this time of year, it all seems so gray inside, and the light rain rolling down the window pulls the eyes through tiny kaleidoscopes to the colors of the brick pavers on the cement surrounded patio outside, filled with life that my father, sister and I, with the help of some quick working Guatemalans, put together in a hurry, packing the sand and gravel below, running black water pipes underneath beforehand so that the water would drain both bellow and through. The pattern, looking back, was designed from a book and put together with my friend and I, at a young age pulling all the irregularities into the pattern exact from the book, making it a quite exquisite and perfect creation.       

My dad used a diamond covered saw to cut the remaining brick pavers from a variety of compiling colors into the spaces that filled the edges to the gray cement boarder, rounded into a soft creation in straight and curved edges filling the space between the old wooden garage, slumping into the marsh behind, the gravel driveway blocked off by a wooden gate, and the wooden deck. It also curved around a tall and epic redwood tree that stretches hundreds of feet into the air covering a whole section of the house with its horizontal foliage, dropping all sorts of browned evergreen bits all over the roof and patio below. Looking out the window, so close to the towering tree, I see all of these things, the gate, the patio, the deck, and even the back extension to the house, all a part of me. My dad and the rest of my siblings put a little work into each of these things, and my dad designed the house in his own image of its finality with the help of only one carpenter and his crew. I remember seeing the house go through the transformation of an old cottage both inside and out to a modern small home, filled with memories of times spent here through my short twenty years of life. The back end of the house, still with bear walls is not yet covered in the wooden shingles, blearing a little bit of incompletion to the whole of the house on the lot.



       It almost brings tears to my eyes to think about the fact that it is time for me to move away from a house I never really had the chance to settle into and spend time in with my childhood. I spent so much time here, but never brought my life with me, only myself, ready to learn and spend more time with my father, loving every second. So much time has gone by, and so many memories seem to move into one single frame of everything that I am here.

       This feeling seems to fill me with regret that I did not live here, but instead, not so far away just down a few streets, but an eternity away, tucked in another small house, living with my two sisters, who one at a time left my life, and I have not yet caught up to them after moving out of that place. It was so beautiful on some levels, filled with my

AIM me about my work: iTrillian

Creative Writing by: RDK
All Stories Copyrighted
Website html and all stories
copyrighted October 11, 2008 RDK