this lives somewhere within and between us exists not without, cannot survive alone forms around us, surely not beyond us fear not the performance, fear not the act does time and place and circumstance persist to permit retrieval of such gentleness?
intermittent wipers broken lines marking where to cut through naked trees clawing at the sheet of clouds bright red triangles black on white warning darts sharp bends white on black approaching one-eyed car wobbles past close enough to make me wince and I hear you "Slow down. Watch out for the deer." And this is what happens; you become part of my world as I drive toward yours
compared with the Sun everything becomes grey-scale without perspective
n.b. It has been a challenging few days, putting fingers to the keyboard as impossible as joining like poles of two magnets. The ‘must post’ became ‘can’t post’.
Now, a shift. Was it the sunlight? Was it the experience of movement in daytime? Was it enjoying catching up with distant friends during the Twelve Days of Christmas? Was it remembering no employer owns all my time? Was it a conversation? Was it spending an hour cleaning the bathroom (don’t ask)?Was it hearing the wren singing?
The shift is back ‘to ‘I post‘. Easy enough to say…