If I believe that others can influence me, then surely I have the power to grow and surrender to my truest self.
I strolled around the damp green earth, smelling the pine needles baking under the sun's early rays. I saw fronds and flowers. yellow, pink. divine forces at work.
dreams : visions mixed up with reality. our heart, our eyes, our minds. experiences both inside and out.
The close-knit drawings appeared again, along with the (thick) smoke, appearing, dissipating, re-appearing, perhaps with breath.
I looked up and saw a young crow wanting to fly. A white speck falls and the wind takes it east.
Like my wrist, I feel like there comes a moment where you have to decide if you can continue living like this, with some sort of obstacle, or if you are willing to go through possibly more pain with faith that it will be better if changed.
What if we did it together? Made something together that filled us with light instead of sucking it dry?
He suggested we put on our wellies and head for the river. What I found was a clear blue sky; in place of beams, rippling sunshine, glittering minerals lining lips of silver. Next was tall grass and curly roots turned upside down as their earthly worlds crumbled into the current. A broken stem, keeping pace with the flowing water, turning around, again, once more. His stick may have been bark and that's why it came to join mine, though just ahead. or was it the water, or maybe both? too many variables.
soft white petals
There is a bird that lives outside my window. I peek my head around the door, she peeks her head out from her hiding spot, nestled with three speckled eggs. A small brown bird, flees to the tree.
The Stranger in the Woods
p.98 "the price of sociability is sometimes our health"
p.105 "these studies...all arrived at the same conclusion: noise and distraction are toxic"
yesterday 80*, today 40*
7.4 gained 20* flexibility in the wrist
July, the 16th
"what a nice cool breeze"
the tips of the tall grasses curl and sway in the warm breeze
like chest hair
leaves richly emerald
tell me, where has this year gone?
does it sleep in the trees or
I trust that it was meant to go
the flowers, tickled by the wind wave to me as I drive by. like a parade, they change color.
the chimes don't compete with the beeping digger. they go on making their ethereal sounds. I still enjoy you, amongst the noise. I may seem distant, but I am here.
july twenty seventh, 2017
trucks, like giant bugs
turn the finger tips, so easily sliced
into carrots for your eyes
beep beep beep
stone into gold
Sol's antennae drift in
and out of sight
time is a light wave
our experience, a circle