#zenspy

[zenspy]

An endless, fog

Rolls in, a shroud of mist

So dense it feels like rain

From clouds hard and dark

Centered in an eye

Of a passing storm

I question whether this storm

Will pass, or condense to fog

So opaque it blinds the eye

Clothing my heart in mist

Wreathing me with clouds

Letting emotions rain

I hide in the rain

I drift with the storm

To wish to become a cloud

To dissipate like fog

To caress as a light mist

To trick the eye

To have upon me, your eyes

Is to become the rain

To scatter like sun touched mist

I give myself to the storm

My heart heavy and light as fog

As solid and untouchable as clouds

I reach between parting clouds

Light seeking eyes

Find only fog

Cleansing rains

I fall between and into storm

Endless lands of mist

Soft touch of mist

Soft bed of clouds

Heart of roiling storms

Dark and searching eyes

Let me fall as rain

Let me gather as fog

Storm built of mists

Fogs and clouds meander and concentrate

Tears falling from eyes join the falling rains

[zenspy]

My body is a host of old injuries. I am easily re-broken along once healed fractures.

[zenspy]

I give things away so frequently that I often forget I’ve done it and upend my entire home in search of something that is no longer there.

[zenspy]

As humanity has strived to conquer and subvert nature (chaos/change), humanity has created its own demise. Entropy: To create a perfectly ordered world is physically impossible. 

[zenspy]

3.13.18

Fear has abandoned us to the elements that we have forgotten.

[zenspy]

3.13.18

The beauty of stormy days is well documented. The ability to stay safe inside and watch nature’s power has transformed our perceptions and our experience. 

To watch something so dangerous perform as spectacle cannot help but transmute.

Driving, hard, biting pieces of icy snow become bullets of swirling light playing with an orchestra of creaking branches and slow, lumbering plow behemoths. 

Cool, cutting, thundering rain becomes a dense cozy curtain, shielding a warm lit house and the warmer, bundled occupants within. 

Only upon waking does one see the leaves torn from branches, branches torn from trees. The undeniable surrender of the Earth’s crust to the assault of falling skies. 

[zenspy]

Spring is here in Porto. Blue sky, puffy clouds retreating as the sun hits the river. Short sleeves, loud laughter and pastries eaten with eyes closed to the bright sun.

[zenspy]

I pull the red curtains closed on the bedroom bay windows and play with the light. 

This is a day for nothing of importance.