Emily stayed lost in the days of yore when form was real and art struck her soul like a starfish in serene waters. The summer fields owned her and in the night she used a cell phone to take photos of blue dandelions in heat.
The call of Montana’s open sky meant her images could spread to dozens in less time then it took for young dough to rise in the warmth of a birthday candle two hundred years ago.
Amidst the laughter of sunburnt crickets, Emily pined like she often did to hear the tune of a telegram over wire or the sound of hooves delivering a parcel. It kept her up at night, the mystery of old.
Oh for the splendor of yesteryears’ glory! She surmised such was better than the present state of being.
The phone lost its range and she hurried to get home.
A decade later, her want to live in the past waned slightly. Emily found her mobile phone as a swift and steady companion. It went places she went and in most of the cases it pleased her. Caller identification made the good better and then a Berry of a phone made e-mail closer than ever.
Because her bustling lifestyle supported it, Emily greeted technology in a new way after that. No more did she trip over herself to avoid a 21st century feel, but she did, however, wait to clamor for a Bluetooth. Soon that refrain too passed and the ranks of hands-free users were full with an at-ease Emily. A girl a swipe or click away.
One chill night Emily heard a brass wind in her phone. Callers were made to bear a fierce crackling before the line failed in painful defeat. The chaotic song that lasted through the night returned her in an instant to the girl ten years younger and technology once again was a foe.
After two days of “network problems,” Emily relished again the fresh feel of quiet. Yes, it bothered her that no calls could carry but it silenced her soul as if the rest was long overdue. In the spirit and right of being perturbed by a piece of shy steel, however, she vented to a distant friend while sitting down to an evening meal.
The e-mail was short and it recanted technology as the: “sleek, shiny and sardonically reliable means through which we dialogue today.” Emily nodded and was satisfied with herself for sticking it to her phone, “that failed shamelessly at finding a backbone.”
Her friend responded a minute later via virtual laughter at the open misery. The girls glided across satellite rays for the next few moments and then Emily peered into the night’s sky as habit provided.
Emily sat straighter in her restaurant booth when memories of playing in the fields challenged her to pick a side of belonging...was she vintage or was she urban?
Then it came; Emily reasoned:
"The sweet abrade of policy is what it takes to prove that either century’s style leads to the same end--familiarity. This attribute compounded or neglected has the power to incite love or loss.
Her years of yearning for the 1800s were adulterated by the flair of today and she wept not because she lost not.
Leaving the restaurant, the wind tore over her frame with a pulse like bleating lambs and she knew it meant to deafen her woes, both present or future.
"Good wind," she thought. "It is formed to strike and savor all that is lost and to find and favor all that is new. The wind renews it. Yes, the pursuit of etiquette for propriety’s sake is like screaming in the wind."
Emily decided instead to let the wind chase her and she lived in the joy of joint worlds. When she needed it most, a hand-made card welcomed her into a promotion; later that day, 14 characters plus an emoticon proposed marriage.
Both begged beauty.
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