Description of an Object

You close your eyes and let your fingertips, as soft as breath, brush gently across a wooden uneven surface that juts out at you with a familiarity you have known all your life. Your fingers sound like they are brushing the surface of a drum, because behind this surface, it is empty and hollow, like a stage wall in the theater. It is a portable light weight landscape full of features yet you can cover it with both your hands. Softly and setting out with both your hands at the top of the only protruding summit, you descend gently into parallel valleys that swirl into circular patches like ponds on either side of this summit. If you move your fingers upward in unison, you cross over ridges above that lead to a smooth place like a plateau. From here your fingers part in opposite directions and drift down either side of the surface, in two wide arches that meet again leaving an oval shape in their wake. You are now at a lesser summit than the first one and it resembles a gentle smooth bump. Moving your fingers upward just above this bump, and after a slight dip, you arrive at two pouting horizontal lines curving slightly. You remove your fingers and open your eyes. Sometimes I am as gaudy and garish as a carnival in spring and other times as sullen and horror stricken as you would be too after hearing of terrible things. I am an eternal and frozen emotion. But I am a thing as familiar as the face you splash awake, remembering dreams which still seem to mean so much as you pause in the mirror. But I can only be woken from within when a body breathes me into being and the right disguise works.  

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