Everything seems so light lately. Even myself. Like I am floating just a bit off the ground, my toes skimming. Colors are pastel in every way and even the dullest things seem romantic.
I thought about the river next to my house at work, and how cold it was outside. How grey the sky was, how miserable it looked. I found comfort in it, the birds always gathering by the pond. Always hungry, always thinking the humans there have food for them.
And the bridge crossing, out and beyond, hovering over like a blue spider, just out of a long sleep. Drudgingly rising to the occasion.
Today though was a different story. Everything was all so striking. I had to go pick up mail at my grandmothers. It’s so nice out there, landscape wise.
The country side was so desaturated. The hides of all the horses gone muted, with cloudy blacks and tawny browns. The only color lighting up the area being the hazy yellow of the field.
All the hills a silhouette, prattling with ivory and cornflower blue, rolling along under the sky. And how pink the sky, casting and flavoring everything misty and cherry.
Sometimes I feel like I’m living in a dream, a really melancholy one. Where I’m neither happy nor sad. Then I feel like something bad is going to happen to me.
Why are my senses so sensitive so to speak?
Today I am going to go pick up some poetry at the library. Then I’m going to read it in the bath tub, which is one of my favorite things to do.
