Forest
The forest is anything but silent, a symphony of chirrups and whistles and pecking and squeaks. Last night we wandered through the woods in darkness after copious wine and a smidgen of bourbon. I offered weed to everyone, but only my queer POC lady friend accepted. Later on I shared a few more puffs with a middle-aged Dutch translator.
I feel happy here. Just need to make sure I don't let marijuana compromise my productivity. Thankfully I have other supplies for that. Yesterday, while exploring the sculpture park alone during the day, I was overcome by amazement at the expansiveness of this property, the magic of these larger than life installations in open fields. Afterward I sat on a deck chair behind the house, overlooking the sweep of the hillside and forest below.
I deserve this, I thought suddenly. I've worked for this. Everything leading up to here was not something anybody helped me with or gave to me freely. I created this moment for myself, this pocket of air, a long and much-needed decompression after the toils of the past years. I am happy because I deserve to be happy. In the same way I have worked for love. Nowadays another potentiality dances across my heart, makes me feel wistful, open again. I know my value. I want to believe in a love that is pure and true, not some word uttered carelessly or notion hastily thrown together. How many times have men professed this love to me, and how brazen and cruel they have been in spite of it. Love is action. Love is action. Love is action.
I feel happy here. Just need to make sure I don't let marijuana compromise my productivity. Thankfully I have other supplies for that. Yesterday, while exploring the sculpture park alone during the day, I was overcome by amazement at the expansiveness of this property, the magic of these larger than life installations in open fields. Afterward I sat on a deck chair behind the house, overlooking the sweep of the hillside and forest below.
I deserve this, I thought suddenly. I've worked for this. Everything leading up to here was not something anybody helped me with or gave to me freely. I created this moment for myself, this pocket of air, a long and much-needed decompression after the toils of the past years. I am happy because I deserve to be happy. In the same way I have worked for love. Nowadays another potentiality dances across my heart, makes me feel wistful, open again. I know my value. I want to believe in a love that is pure and true, not some word uttered carelessly or notion hastily thrown together. How many times have men professed this love to me, and how brazen and cruel they have been in spite of it. Love is action. Love is action. Love is action.