Oh god, it's almost 9 pm; I write to take a break from writing...deadlines and such. A walk out the door, a whole new universe awakens. Holes in the sky. Impromptu band playing Holst by the lakeside. Sharing a poem (my point of departure) with a stranger in a coffee shop leads to the idea of an intuitive choice to be good when present, so often drowned out by the static we find ourselves swimming in. A million justifications for wrong action. Truth in unexpected places. Grateful for the depth of it all. I still don't have ten minutes. Untangling fishing wire, like thoughts, from of a tree, then touching my hand ever so lightly on a branch large enough to bear my weight, feeling the seemingly solid mass move in the breeze, like dancing, like breath. The sun drops down, the golden hour. Now in my room listening to the whole of "The Planets." The air cooled quickly from the heat of the day. Clouds formed like fairy wings out of nothingness, suddenly filling the sky where none were before. I wish it would rain.
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| Birches, August 9/L Herlevi 2015 |
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| For dramatic effect, August 9/L Herlevi 2015 |
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