low and thick,
dampening the grass and the spirits of the people.
With it comes a drizzle,
light and slow,
yet more soaking than the hardest, heaviest rain.
The winds awaken,
cold and gusty,
penetrating even the most high quality jackets.
Born from the breeze,
swells rise and fall
and huge breakers splash on the rocks as they have for centuries.
dark, wet, and dreary;
but wherever there is rain, there is sun.
Always look for the rainbow.
I once knew a woman who used to believe in inspiration. Rather, she used to live by the word. She was a quoter; she lived by the notion that the world was a melting pot of quotes. Her speech was hindered by clichés, yet she spoke with purpose. Her eyes were glistening reflection of what she perceived everyone as, filters for immorality. She lived in an illusion; she was an illusion.
She believed in the spirit of a person, in the way the spirit floated, in the way it could diverge from the physical being. She believed in bringing about a catharsis in people--that change was inevitable in every lost soul. She believed every person lived with a purpose in the world, that their niche was to change the world---for the better. She carried herself without a doubt, yet she unknowingly created many skeptics around her.
I often questioned the sincerity of the woman. Her kind heart and sing-songy words were sources of bliss for anyone she encountered; there was something surreal about it all, about her. She often told me I was her inspiration, and in tradition, I said the same to her. Yet, sometimes I considered her to truly be so. Her optimism reminded me of my own dreams---of reaching out for them. She was one of the few in the world who dreamt of changing others---and in my own selfish ways, I dreamt of changing myself. Read more »
What goes up must go down.
Misery strikes at the weakest hour.
The happiest hour is also my weakest.
Forward is the only way to go.
and never looking back.
'Slap on a smile,
kick down a frown.'
What goes up must come down.
That can't be afforded.
Nowhere but up.
Up past the clouds.
Up past Laputa.
Up past the moon.
Yesterday morning I walked to school.
I had gotten up early
and decided to
of the convenient head start.
I walked down my street
and the air was balmy
and a soft breeze blew back my hair
and the sun was shining perfectly,
caressing the flawless clouds
their bellies soft and purple
in the crisp winter light.
Each one was suspended
in the impossibly blue sky,
and even though I could not see it
I knew that
every single one
had a silver lining.
A Perfectly Innocent Christmas Letter
Dear friends and family,
I am writing to wish you all
a very happy Christmas
and to give an update
on what's going on in our little family.
Those of you with whom
we have little contact otherwise
may be under the impression
that we are now a family of eight.
This would, however, be a false assumption to make
as we have recently had our numbers
reduced to three,
and perhaps soon to be two
by the time you receive the letter
because Timmy has been suffering
from a spot of Leukemia lately,
which has hit our finances quite severely.
We were, as I mentioned in the last letter,
expecting a sixth child
some time around the New Year
but he was unavoidably miscarried
late in the third trimester.
The second to go was Jimmy
who fell out of a chairlift in March
into a drunken snowboarder
who was going far too fast.
It turned out that he had a rib through his heart
if I remember correctly. Read more »