shapeofthings (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
shapeofthings) wrote2005-04-05 08:11 am
shapeofthings) wrote2005-04-05 08:11 am
Start the day with a sigh
It's raining. A gentle drizzle that barely distubs the patina of dust blanketing the city. It has been dry all year so far and this sprinkle is most welcome, though of little use except to settle to dust.
I love grey, rainy days. Nothing better than sitting inside, listening to moody music and watching the world drift by. To be at home, baking or creating... rain brings out the writer in me and occasionally the failed artist. It awakens my loner's soul and I go walking, watching the light rain sparkle on my skin, wearing my hair out as an absorbent cloak. The smell of ozone and damp soil rich in my nostrils, watching the wildlife celebrate.
But I'm a participant in the great experiment of Western society, so I'm seated here, windows to my back under fluorescent shimmer. Peppermint tea smooths the edges and instead of unravelling, these days I'm just a little frayed. Sleep-worn and worried for too many things beyond my control. Researching peak oil is not good for the soul, but reaching out that soul for care of a friend stretches it further. My silent friend I feel your hurt, sharp and burning, and claw at my own uselessness in absolvency. *huuuugs*
This bumpy path I'm walking down, following the sun in hope I've made the most honest choices. Another week of mixed apathy and human connection. Heavy in spirit but heart filled with love, today the melancholy beckons. Still the machinations call: work to be done!
When I get home I think I'll pick some birds of paradise from the garden. A vase of cheer to brighten my partitioned outlook wouldn't go astray. Be well, my friends. May the wind bring you joy.
I love grey, rainy days. Nothing better than sitting inside, listening to moody music and watching the world drift by. To be at home, baking or creating... rain brings out the writer in me and occasionally the failed artist. It awakens my loner's soul and I go walking, watching the light rain sparkle on my skin, wearing my hair out as an absorbent cloak. The smell of ozone and damp soil rich in my nostrils, watching the wildlife celebrate.
But I'm a participant in the great experiment of Western society, so I'm seated here, windows to my back under fluorescent shimmer. Peppermint tea smooths the edges and instead of unravelling, these days I'm just a little frayed. Sleep-worn and worried for too many things beyond my control. Researching peak oil is not good for the soul, but reaching out that soul for care of a friend stretches it further. My silent friend I feel your hurt, sharp and burning, and claw at my own uselessness in absolvency. *huuuugs*
This bumpy path I'm walking down, following the sun in hope I've made the most honest choices. Another week of mixed apathy and human connection. Heavy in spirit but heart filled with love, today the melancholy beckons. Still the machinations call: work to be done!
When I get home I think I'll pick some birds of paradise from the garden. A vase of cheer to brighten my partitioned outlook wouldn't go astray. Be well, my friends. May the wind bring you joy.