Sundays

I feel sort of slow and cold and not much good for anything, as if in the grip of cold silence.

Most of the snow is gone, but the sun cannot break thru the heavy dirty wool of the clouds overhead. One line of blue, at first deep azure and now pallid and pale blue, peers thru the thick grey-white haze, but no sun. The tall Ponderosa pines bend in the wind, bowing to a superior force, as I sit up here in my aerie looking out on a winter world caught in the bubble between spring and summer.

I have gone thru all my emails, edited a sample of text and posted it in hopes of finding more work and generating a regular income, and I need to finish the staff issue of R&T and work on my own essay about the power of purpose, but somehow I cannot urge myself closer to the words. Perhaps it is because my fingers are cold and a little stiff or perhaps I need a break, a few moments outside so the wind can blow the cobwebs and silence from my mind. Or perhaps I just need to go downstairs and get something to eat, something warm and spicy or sweet and warm or just warm and filling.

I want to crawl back into bed with The Speed of Dark and Elizabeth Moon's spare prose, slip back into Lou Arrendale's autistic mind and wonder along with him what is truly normal and what is supposed to be normal and isn't. Or if normal is a catch-all term that defines nothing more than a generality.

A ray of sun just lit up the golden caps on the wooden posts punctuating the deck railing and now the view outside the windows on the living room wall is all golden and bright. High up above the mountainous clouds a washed out cobalt blue sky reaches its fingers downward into the thick covering and the band of pallid blue is gone. The clouds are thick like curdled milk, but there is no watery whey washing thru the curds.

I guess I'll go downstairs and get something to eat, take a hot shower, and walk out into the wind to see if there isn't something I can find at the grocery story to tempt my seedling thoughts into full bloom. Then again, maybe I'll just keep writing and see what happens, what peers from between the nonsense and the dreams.