#castersph

[theprocast]

Let the sun’s rays cast the overshadowing darkness within you.

j.v.b.

[theprocast]

A commotion breaks over the air forming clouds of spring aroma and summer fragrance as the last bits of winter flakes recedes into a quiet sonata down the riverside of tears and fears. Chaotic reverie consumes her mind and her heart becomes restrained in an effort to solve the labyrinthine tunnel of her thoughts, hidden deep beneath the fallen leaves, and the cold, winter snow. The commotion abruptly stops and everything is suddenly in slow motion, playing 5 frames per minute, showing what had happened over three-hundred sixty five days of dinners and sunsets and forgotten tattoos, of daybreaks, and dawns, of poetry readings and cafes open till midnight— Continuously it plays the records from the past to be reminisced after some time after the salty water from her eyes drips no more, and the haunting thoughts of brokenness bury themselves deep within her tired bones. The music carries on, a collaboration of the angels and the demons that surreptitiously tortured her from within, the way a chainsaw breaks the courage left from a dying oak; she can hear the notes from miles away as she drives her minivan farther away from the place where the four seasons thrive. The dark recesses of winter fades as the sweet aroma of daffodils and lavenders of rhododendrons and forget-me-nots, fill the insides of her olfactory organ; and with its fading is the going away of the past, of sunsets and forgotten tattoos of daybreaks, and dawns, of poetry readings and cafes open till midnight. It begins again, the commotion, as the train of thoughts begin to move again towards somewhere farther from the place where the four seasons thrive; a smile forming across her lips as she tries to answer the puzzle lying deep beneath the crooked smile of a young man on top of her— with it unfolds the beginning another three-hundred sixty five days of sunsets and forgotten tattoos of daybreaks, and dawns, of poetry readings and cafes open till midnight, of holidays and shopping carts, of graffiti and morning jogs…

Commotions and memorabilia from the land of four seasons and into another strange land.