You know, you'd prefer to always wax poetic. You'd prefer to be always transcending & transforming. Tripping from one peak experience to another. Always alive in a world of wonder & astonishment.
Sure, you live for those days.
Unfortunately, many of your days are actually all about slogging, rolling in the mud, trudging thru, navigating a cold, gray, raw, starkly-brutal landscape. A Northwest wind cutting across the land like a murderous cabal of ice-picks. They penetrate your forehead, and freeze-dry your frontal cortex. You can curse the wind, curse the day, curse your lot in life.
But it does no good. Your words are pointless, they fall like dead leaves, and and they blow away with the dirt and trashy hurly-burly.
Getting thru. Carrying on. Knowing there will be better days some time. You hold that thought deep down in your solar plexus. This dark blast will not last. The sun will rise. One day. Maybe soon. That's the slight, paper-thin reed & glimmer you need, even if everything today is gloom. Today will not always be.
