midpoints

The moulding wetness of the last few weeks had dried to a fine autumnal haze, a midpoint twixt a fleeting summer and the oncoming hibernatory season. Crispy deadness scrunching through summer's memories as I shuffle off to work.

My internal balance found once more as I shed my own-made obstacles in favour of a freeness of spirit. My last winter fed me sea and salt while summer faded too early. Sun baked warmth leeching from tanned flesh faster than it should.

But naught to fear since the cinnamon call sings persistently in the back brain waiting for opportunity to arrive.

come and gone ...

Demarra sweetness to the ears and spicy heartbeats, sweet grass laughter and cinnamon smiles. The call you haven't been waiting for rings unannounced and makes a magic java morning that much better.

Dusty sunshine needs a telehug and a well in which to dump her electric tension. No problemo, the bottomless is here. That's why she called. What are friends for after all but to share the load.

Suck up that creative juiciness and spit it back out as art, at the same time committing your passion to the other and hoping the client likes the finished product as much as you seem to do.

Some clean sweeping, sloughing the dross that has collected, once desired but now unused. Fresh nag champa wafting through the hall lulling the forebrain, suggesting a sort of sittedness. Let it float and go. You don't really want to keep the inner trash anymore than you really need the outer.

Free yourself. Only you can.

another friday nite

When you are alone and fighting the despondency that threatens and a couple of friends show up.  Count yourself lucky.

The darkness threatens. suffocating in intensity to be lightened by the driven but motivated visions of your friends. They could be anywhere else but they are here. They smell alive, they sound invested, and they do not release you to the voices. They engage, laugh, argue, and come to terms.

They keep me safe from myself. why? Shouldn't I just let go?