A new day. Maybe sort of like the last one, but decidedly, not the same day at all. As Bukowski once wrote: "The days run away like wild horses." Yep. Moments, fleeting, flying away, out of our grasp like little sparks of lightening.
So, yeah, new day. Cold, cloudy, windy, stormy. Nothing like yesterday. There is a continuity, but it is really all in my head, and in my body. I carry the days, I carry and embody the past. It is a heavy load. Sort of a burden.
Memory. Remembering. Trying my best to be clear, in the now. Not easy.
