Thomas Doty – Storyteller
Each morning I walk in the dripping woods. Then I burrow into my lair-like home. I read passages in books I know will make me weep.
After twilight, I glimpse a shadow in the trees. Sometimes it's a mournful cat on the prowl for a slant of moonlight, or an owl swooping past. Sometimes it's some sad shape that cannot be described, and it makes me shiver.
A friend remarked that I seem distracted. Another suggested that I get my hearing checked. They do not understand that nothing is wrong.
During this season voices fill my mind as an autumn downpour fills the wild woods. Few other sounds get in.
Inside my storm I hear streams of sorrowful tales from long ago. I am drawn to these stories. They make me happy, and pull me through.