A Reservoir

The front page of the newspaper contains enough stories to tap into a reservoir of emotions. Sometimes I find myself reading something and tears well up. Am I so struck by the tragedy or so involved that I become the fly on the wall?

Reading a book or seeing a movie pull the reader or viewer into another reality. It's easy to be wrapped up in another story and begin to feel as if you're the eavesdropper, the shadow of the character.

The story draws one along and, for a period of time, your life is subsumed by the events. Instead of sitting in a chair you're there--whether that means close by or in space, now or hundreds of years ago or in a distant future.

But the newspaper-- that's a story happening right now.

And are the tears because we all own a reservoir of tears that rest well beneath the surface? The release of those happen at unexpected times. And they may not be tears at all, just a welling up that lasts for just a second or two. Then life resumes as if no crack appeared.

I think they are tears that seek a place to peer out before receding until the next evocative story. Their story rests in the reservoir.