rejectomorph (flying_blind) wrote,
rejectomorph
flying_blind

Damp

Standing on the porch, I hear the first small drops hitting the leaves of the mulberry tree. The image which comes to my mind is of grains of sand striking the bottom of an hourglass. The tree is sharply outlined against the bright patch of clouds behind which the nearly full moon is hidden. Earlier, the light fell unfettered, but now all is dimly aglow, even the vague shadows of shrubs and eaves and fences darkling. The raindrops fall faster, scenting the night, freshening the desiccated air. I have managed for a while to return to that world bound only by my imagination, and the tangible is glossed in imagination's luster, which holds it fast, as though by spell all had been turned to glass, never to move again. This thought-conjured world will inevitably shatter, but an hour here is worth an age of reality. The rain now hisses through the pines and turns ordinary streets to dark mirrors, creating the sense that the world of illusion might be as real as the concrete world it reflects; that it might be easy to pass between them. I walk out into the dim, moist night, and wait for my feet to sink into the ground.
Subscribe

  • Reset Forty-Seven, Day Sixty-One

    Odd how I've slipped imperceptibly into this pattern of multiple short naps each day instead of one or two longer sleeps, and spend part of each…

  • Reset Forty-Seven, Day Sixty

    Getting through the vague days with naps and snacks, not much caring that I'm not doing much, except for now and then scolding myself for being such…

  • Reset Forty-Seven, Day Fifty-Nine

    A few hours comatosery and some things that might have been dreams or daydreams, and here I am again wanting to sleep more. For Thursday's lunch I…

  • Post a new comment

    Error

    default userpic

    Your reply will be screened

    Your IP address will be recorded 

    When you submit the form an invisible reCAPTCHA check will be performed.
    You must follow the Privacy Policy and Google Terms of use.
  • 0 comments