Have you ever watched the clouds go by?
Lying in the grass, I stare at the sky watching them drift and sway, surreal–as if I’m the one going too fast as the move by. It’s a windy day, and they’re blustering faster than usual. Sometimes I think that they are the only ones that are moving. Then I have to remind myself that I’m moving too. Everything is moving, drifting, floating, vibrating, turning, twisting–even growing and wilting, living and dying, but always moving.
Now I’m dizzy. My head spins like the earth, which when I stop to think about boggles my mind up even more. Sometimes I feel like everything is spinning, even me and usually out of control.
There are moments of peace in between the waves of wind that blow my hair around my face, lifting it from my shoulders and trying to twirl it in circles, once again coming back to the spherical motion of life, the universe and everything. Sometimes I wonder if we’ve given so much attention, thought, and energy to the number 42 that it my have some deep universal meaning now. More likely that’s an insignificant thought in my twirling head–a desperate grab to try and hold onto something solid in a moving world.
The sun peaks her face out every few minutes, wanting to breach the clouds but failing each time. Still, she tries.
Rainclouds are moving in, inching closer with every second that ticks by as my fingers tick on the keyboard cataloging not much of anything while classical music plays and the wind sings a melody that not everyone can hear.
It stormed last night, badly. The wind was more violent than, pushing around trees and water and dirt–as if angry about nothing or everything or just the right something. Cruelness in the beauty.
It’s midday and the grass is green: a little too long and in need of a mow. Dandelions are popping their faces as they join the circle. Branches sway and the temperature drops. The rain is almost here. Maybe it will be another storm, maybe just a shower. The sun is hovering just on the edge. Peace before the rain.
I take in a breathe, almost not wanting to exhale. Tasting the nectar of the coming and going. The clouds are moving even faster, picking up pace, pushing their way to dispel their baggage–to lighten their load. I can see it coming down.
Any minute. Any minute now.
My hands are numb from the cruel wind, and it’s time to go in.
Other Links to reach me at: