little things…

 

 

 

 

a branch snapping in the night

photo by loveblushfever (c)

photo by loveblushfever(c)

Who are we? We find that we live on an insignificant planet of a humdrum star lost in a galaxy tucked away in some forgotten corner of a universe in which there are far more galaxies than people.  Carl Sagan

 

blue day

photo by loveblushfever

january blues all beat up cold tired restless and bored what i’d do for just a little sun, a little warmth, the sound of snow melting and the slapping of a skipping rope in the driveway instead it’s the snapping of branches in the cold dark night, the man across the street who works early and wakes me at 4 in the morning as he scrapes frost from his front windshield.

god i hate winter.

passages

photo by loveblushfever (c)

reclamation

Small things are gigantic.   A heart on fire in the middle of the ocean.  One lonely tree on a hilltop.  An old couple holding hands at the market.    A clock on the mantle counting down the moments.

I thrive on pretense and assumption, on hope and yearning.  Some corner of meager existence, where things make sense in a small way, and little things are just little things, with a spill or two along the way.

Comfortably weary and restless.  I hear there’s only so much time.  And sometimes everything just has to be slow like snow falling.  And sometimes there is no reason, just an idea.

A concentrated mediocrity.  Boiled down, reduced, reclaimed, returned.  A lifetime isn’t enough.  There’s never enough time or hunger to go all the way round.

But to need a little less.  To let in a little more.  Of the world.  Of you.  So put on your face.  And your dancing shoes.

Life waits for no one.

-loveblushfever

 

Don’t say you don’t have enough time. You have exactly the same number of hours per day that were given to Helen Keller, Pasteur, Michaelangelo, Mother Teresa, Leonardo da Vinci, Thomas Jefferson, and Albert Einstein.

H. Jackson Brown Jr

Difficult times have helped me to understand better than before, how infinitely rich and beautiful life is in every way, and that so many things that one goes worrying about are of no importance whatsoever…

Isak Dineson

There is a time for departure even when there’s no certain place to go.

Tennessee Williams

 

OBLIVION #3

photo by loveblushfever (c)

Breeze coming in the window.  Quiet thoughts.   Simple, unadorned images of faint, yet bright memories drifting into and out of view.  What we have to say versus what we have to tell.  Stories have all kinds of beginnings.  I sift through fragments of thoughts, ideas of things, and hold on a little longer to some kind of meaning that continues to elude me.   It feels like I haven’t slept in years.  My keys are still in the door.  I’ve left the coffee on all day.   Laundry’s still in the washing machine.   I’m holding on to the edge of the desk half off my chair.  Either I’m terrified or I’m indecisive.  Regardless, it is the end of something.  I feel that whatever all of this has been is cascading to an end point where I don’t have to do this anymore, where there is no will to put myself through all the drama any longer.  It feels at once relieving, warm and good, and absolutely horrifying.  Anything that ends is this way.  I’m not prepared to embark, to push away from the shore and just float along, no direction, just stumbling through,  on undercurrents, fumes.  Just get on with it.  Inhale.

565

565

conundrum

emerging.  bringing.  recognizing.  adhering.  landscaping.  administering.

life is a conquest of the heart

everything matters

but nothing is dyer

because everything is clear

and well-jointed- and falling off the bone

a labour of love.

conundrum.

loveblushfever

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