The balancing act
Shy little rays of morning sun crept secretly into my room through the door to the verandah, thinking that I would not notice. They stayed for a little while, checking the contents of a couple of small, meaningless jars on an otherwise empty bookshelf, they peeked into my half-packed boxes of books, and shook their heads at the mess all over my floor before vanishing with silent tinkling laughter.
I shall need their help with drying some sheets outside in a little while, and I hope they come back.
A cup of coffee and bland American bread, with thoughts of friends, the writer's fear, the ability to love oneself, and the mental inventory of all the things yet to be packed.
I think that those who live to create need to exist in a kind of flux. If everything remains still, stable and peaceful, we would be lost in the patterns of the world and the wheels of time - we would be stale, just like the bread I had for breakfast.
Another cup of coffee, perhaps. I think I'll skip the bread. The sun rays have not been back, but no matter, I have a house to pack in a finite number of boxes.
Posted by sniffles at April 07, 2002 10:50 AM