Musings from a wandering mind.
The grass is thick and long here, whispering against my footsteps as I follow the neglected path. There's been too much rain, and the earth is silty soft. Sticky mud cakes my shoes and may never come off.
Tuning In to the Universe
It's Monday, 3 a.m. I'm drifting in the dark, eyes burning as I swipe up to look at just one more post. Then one more. And one more after that. I want to sleep, but I can't stop. Something restless and immense is prowling at the back of my mind. If I set my phone down and close my eyes, I'll have to face this existential dread.
Bury Your Tropes
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The darkness folds down in satin layers, summer softening the transition into night. Silhouette trees fill with the clicking, murmur, and chatter of frogs, crickets, and katydids. Cotton clouds flash and flicker along the horizon, and a few stray fireflies drift through the humid air, signaling back to the distant storm.
Fog softens the bare branches and sits heavy on the forest floor. The trees fade layer by layer into the distance. The billowing, shifting haze uproots the land—creating imaginary islands that float in a soft dream world.
The river is a mirror in the grey dawn. I dip my paddles and glide, white ripples on a reflected sky. The fresh, loamy scent of the water beckons me along its lazy bends and curves as I chase the first flickers of light.
Rain, rhythmic on a taut umbrella—the stretched canvas too small to keep water from soaking the soft fabric of my coat. The legs of my slacks, drenched and dragging, and the grey sky unrelenting as the rain sheets down in heavy curtains. Spray comes up with each passing car—hulking bodies skidding and weaving as they barrel too fast into pools too deep.