A while ago, a porch light was lit and illuminated the largest dogwood, making the blossoms look like frost. I tried to imagine that it was winter, but the fantasy failed. I hoped that the wind would blow the veils from my mind, but that too failed. It is that spring is to be a time of beginnings, and I am faced with endings. The incongruity has disrupted my thoughts and left me scrambling for metaphors. I suppose I'll simply have to wait for some future time of tranquility in which to order these recollected days. But at the moment, I can't imagine such a time.
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- rejectomorph (
flying_blind) wrote,
rejectomorph
flying_blind
Chilled
A while ago, a porch light was lit and illuminated the largest dogwood, making the blossoms look like frost. I tried to imagine that it was winter, but the fantasy failed. I hoped that the wind would blow the veils from my mind, but that too failed. It is that spring is to be a time of beginnings, and I am faced with endings. The incongruity has disrupted my thoughts and left me scrambling for metaphors. I suppose I'll simply have to wait for some future time of tranquility in which to order these recollected days. But at the moment, I can't imagine such a time.
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