Dry

[rejectomorph]

Some days bring odd images to my mind. Today, the warm, dry desert breeze which has flowed steadily from the north has brought a sense of lassitude. I keep thinking of a door hanging open, slowly swinging back and forth. I get the feeling that nobody is home. It is like capturing an image from a dream while wide awake. I'd like to see the rest of the dream, but the door is all I get.

I went out and got my head partly shorn. Hair no longer tickles my ears. That's better. The rose bushes need shorn, too. They are full of dead flowers I've never gotten around to removing. I've actually been enjoying the sight of the dried blossoms. They suit my mood. Sooner or later I'll have to cut them, though, so new flowers will grow. But I am filled with reluctance.

I did get the few oak leaves which had already fallen cleaned up, and a bit of watering done. In the dry air, the dampness form the watering vanished in only a few minutes. The day insists on being itself. Its arid serenity seems incongruous with the air of uncertainty that now prevails. I watch the few puffs of drifting cloud. They have nothing to do with me.

Comments

"The day insists on being itself."

[ginger931.livejournal.com]

It is coming.

Good is coming.

I can feel it.

I do not know you.

And I am unsettled as well...

Keep watching the sky.

I was an Air Force Brat.
Nothing ever staid the same....
But the changing sky.

I have lived on many pieces of ground.
I have always lived under the same sky.

"The day insists on being itself."

::nods::

Nights are cooler.
The Summer is over.

This was a bad Summer.

Autumn is apon us.

Put your hard roses in a jar.
Close the lid.