(no subject)
Time rolls to a walk and advances in stride with me. I nod to it and tip my hat, and my smile starts as I tell it, "Fine weather we're having. Good day, good day!"
It is often a christmas in July chill. But it is so unlike what I know of it. For instance, I somehow would still feel as though the year is only starting or perhaps the wind is aimless in its calls. It is like reaching for a phantom reference. It is like emerging suddenly and everything is a sharp stimulation where it would have been blunt on transit. It is like walking underwater where any form of sound causes a muffled reverberation to the motions of contracted pulls.
I fill spaces for stretches of days and then gather impressions in one noiseless sweep. For every immersion of one, is a resurfacing in another perspective and its reclamations that follows. I wake with mornings smelling of either the musky depth of the ocean scent or the sweet sharp tinge of mango mandarin. I am doing more than I ever could. But there's some blessed sense of being in it and to it. I am drawn aside my perpetually brooding self, and I re-learn to pronounce things outside of their riddles.
Listening to : Beautiful Awakening, Stacie Orrico
It is often a christmas in July chill. But it is so unlike what I know of it. For instance, I somehow would still feel as though the year is only starting or perhaps the wind is aimless in its calls. It is like reaching for a phantom reference. It is like emerging suddenly and everything is a sharp stimulation where it would have been blunt on transit. It is like walking underwater where any form of sound causes a muffled reverberation to the motions of contracted pulls.
I fill spaces for stretches of days and then gather impressions in one noiseless sweep. For every immersion of one, is a resurfacing in another perspective and its reclamations that follows. I wake with mornings smelling of either the musky depth of the ocean scent or the sweet sharp tinge of mango mandarin. I am doing more than I ever could. But there's some blessed sense of being in it and to it. I am drawn aside my perpetually brooding self, and I re-learn to pronounce things outside of their riddles.
Listening to : Beautiful Awakening, Stacie Orrico