full of awe

The balk

I write because I am. I am before I write. Write, me. But before I go on, let's step back and take a good look at this word: Balk. It can also appear in the form: Baulk. Either way, I want to suggest caution and vigilance. When you encounter this word, mark your surroundings, recognize your companions. Take note of those who utter the word, and indeed also those who balk at it, at the uttering of it. Take measure of their balk. Look out for this word among your conversations. I tell you now there will come a reckoning.

The word is uncanny in writing but more so in conversation. It is, I believe, a word of alien origins. Celestial alienness. It is not from around here. You will protest. You will tell me of its rural, south Bavarian heritage, the ploughs, the mules. But I will attend to your response most carefully. Your eyes as they shift uncomfortably, your hands. Do you suddenly need to scratch your nose, is that a sweat sheen on your ample forehead? Yes, and I will listen for tell-tale hesitations and careful pronunciations. The tone, the cadence. This word, balk, is not one of ours. I feel this, I know this. Humans don't do it. We don't balk.