i'm adrift in the high seas, and i will have no solace
Tonight, i'd found myself lying on the grass, staring at a bonfire. It was a nice fire, and I'd found my own small amount of pride in it. I should have taken pride in it. I'd made it work. It was a pile of logs and paper, and all they could do was light the paper and watch it burn, while not actually igniting anything at all. Then I, in valiance, ran to my car, drove it over, and took out a gas tank, full of premium grade gasoline. That stuff is three dollars per gallon. The gas can was taken from me because I wasn't to be trusted with it, and the others poured it on and made a fire. It hadn't been my fire, but it wasn't logs and paper.
It was a very nice fire, and I was lying beside it. It made an enjoyable companion. The other kids and adults and all of the other people were doing other things. I was just on the grass, lying on my back with my legs and arms scattered around me and my face turned toward the orange and red embers and the heat.
A friend noticed me and walked over to me. He looked as if he were going to kick me, or push me, or try to rouse me somehow. He asked what I was doing, and I told him that I was comfortable. Then, he scolded my opinion of comfortable, and compared the sharp bladed grasses underneath me, to the green beds of grass in other places. He told me the grass in New York was quite comfortable. I told him that I was quite comfortable.
It wasn't a grassy green bed comfort. It wasn't a bed with pillows comfort. That's not the comfort that I'd had or cared for. I shouldn't find this comfort in a comfortable sofa or chair, or even one with down pillows and memory foam cusions. Down isn't very common, and I hear it's also unpopular, animal rights and all that, but my grandmother has pillows with that stuff in them and they are wonderful. But it's not that comfort that I'd found.
I've sailed my sailboat through dangerous seas. I've taken it into tempests, with dark grey and black clouds in the sky and lightning flying everywhere. The waters, in such occasions, are darker and relentlessly offensive. The wind was a terrible squall. It would swiftly push over my boat, pulling the sail and mast, and it would even shake the lines tied down on my boat and make them vibrate. The boat would often whistle, but never so much as the howling storm. I have taken my boat into terrible conditions, but when it ends and I come in to safety, I may find my truest comfort on the hard wooden planks of a dock. I could rest in terribly awkward positions, usually with my back against a terribly uncomfortable few pieces of wood. My life preserver, still zipped up and ready to keep me afloat would never provide some wonderful cusion. Nothing was in any way comfortable, but I was comfortable there.
As I rest by my bonfire, I find a comparable comfort to this. It is similar, as it is no normal comfort, but it has a difference. On the dock, there was importance in my rest after the terrible trials and dismay, but also I had been saved from my trials and dismay. Once this rest ends, and I walk down the dock, I walk away from the high seas. If I stand and walk from my bonfire, I have not left my everything behind.
It was a very nice fire, and I was lying beside it. It made an enjoyable companion. The other kids and adults and all of the other people were doing other things. I was just on the grass, lying on my back with my legs and arms scattered around me and my face turned toward the orange and red embers and the heat.
A friend noticed me and walked over to me. He looked as if he were going to kick me, or push me, or try to rouse me somehow. He asked what I was doing, and I told him that I was comfortable. Then, he scolded my opinion of comfortable, and compared the sharp bladed grasses underneath me, to the green beds of grass in other places. He told me the grass in New York was quite comfortable. I told him that I was quite comfortable.
It wasn't a grassy green bed comfort. It wasn't a bed with pillows comfort. That's not the comfort that I'd had or cared for. I shouldn't find this comfort in a comfortable sofa or chair, or even one with down pillows and memory foam cusions. Down isn't very common, and I hear it's also unpopular, animal rights and all that, but my grandmother has pillows with that stuff in them and they are wonderful. But it's not that comfort that I'd found.
I've sailed my sailboat through dangerous seas. I've taken it into tempests, with dark grey and black clouds in the sky and lightning flying everywhere. The waters, in such occasions, are darker and relentlessly offensive. The wind was a terrible squall. It would swiftly push over my boat, pulling the sail and mast, and it would even shake the lines tied down on my boat and make them vibrate. The boat would often whistle, but never so much as the howling storm. I have taken my boat into terrible conditions, but when it ends and I come in to safety, I may find my truest comfort on the hard wooden planks of a dock. I could rest in terribly awkward positions, usually with my back against a terribly uncomfortable few pieces of wood. My life preserver, still zipped up and ready to keep me afloat would never provide some wonderful cusion. Nothing was in any way comfortable, but I was comfortable there.
As I rest by my bonfire, I find a comparable comfort to this. It is similar, as it is no normal comfort, but it has a difference. On the dock, there was importance in my rest after the terrible trials and dismay, but also I had been saved from my trials and dismay. Once this rest ends, and I walk down the dock, I walk away from the high seas. If I stand and walk from my bonfire, I have not left my everything behind.