and mid-winter musings.
One day the snow was coming down to form deep banks of mid-winter drifts, and the next it was forty Five degrees and a threat of flooding, as the sun broke through the clouds to melt the ice covered roads. Lack of sunlight often causes depression, and feeling over tired. It makes you want to crawl back in bed and pull the blankets over your head. Of course it doesn't do much for you. Only facing the day head on will make any kind of difference.
However lingering awhile, never hurts, and at these moments a mindful thought chases daydreams into a realm of fantasy. Where do your thoughts turn? Years gone by, of loving memories with which to dream of special people and events. Even yesterday is part of the past now, to be forgotten or kept as a fragile silken strand now twisted into your very being. Do we choose to hold first this strand and then that colorful one over there? Gathering as many as our grasp can hold then twisting them into the toughen cord of our life's pleasures and dreams. Dropping the ones less cared for {perhaps even painful to hold onto} or losing our tight hold as age descends upon us making it difficult to remember.
Sometimes an overcrowding of illusions and dreams take their tole as well and we forget some small thing once vowed always to remember. At time the lesser of these can be recovered, when we glimpse some small part thereof and the gates open to flood our hearts and souls of that which we thought lost.
At other times, the greater thing will push past all else, and stand demanding entrance once again, into our threads held tight with-in our overflowing and stranded cord that makes up one's life long existence.
How often do we look back, and upon seeing the past rise up behind us like so many hills we have climbed, stay awhile and renew acquaintances. Or do you turn quickly toward the future wishing only to forget what should have been all that has made you into your very complex and individual reality.
So many have been touched by your past, so should you be as well. One is and therefore lives to be.
Nowhere else will there be anyone quite like you. No-one else will see as clearly through your insightful thoughts and dreams. Like a patchwork quilt, pieces sewn into the very design you have created by being what you are today, made from yesterdays flowing into tomorrows and onward into time it's self.
The English take tea, and the french make love, I search for fireflies. Little glimmers of light like fairies in the night, all on a mid-summers eve.
One day the snow was coming down to form deep banks of mid-winter drifts, and the next it was forty Five degrees and a threat of flooding, as the sun broke through the clouds to melt the ice covered roads. Lack of sunlight often causes depression, and feeling over tired. It makes you want to crawl back in bed and pull the blankets over your head. Of course it doesn't do much for you. Only facing the day head on will make any kind of difference.
However lingering awhile, never hurts, and at these moments a mindful thought chases daydreams into a realm of fantasy. Where do your thoughts turn? Years gone by, of loving memories with which to dream of special people and events. Even yesterday is part of the past now, to be forgotten or kept as a fragile silken strand now twisted into your very being. Do we choose to hold first this strand and then that colorful one over there? Gathering as many as our grasp can hold then twisting them into the toughen cord of our life's pleasures and dreams. Dropping the ones less cared for {perhaps even painful to hold onto} or losing our tight hold as age descends upon us making it difficult to remember.
Sometimes an overcrowding of illusions and dreams take their tole as well and we forget some small thing once vowed always to remember. At time the lesser of these can be recovered, when we glimpse some small part thereof and the gates open to flood our hearts and souls of that which we thought lost.
At other times, the greater thing will push past all else, and stand demanding entrance once again, into our threads held tight with-in our overflowing and stranded cord that makes up one's life long existence.
How often do we look back, and upon seeing the past rise up behind us like so many hills we have climbed, stay awhile and renew acquaintances. Or do you turn quickly toward the future wishing only to forget what should have been all that has made you into your very complex and individual reality.
So many have been touched by your past, so should you be as well. One is and therefore lives to be.
Nowhere else will there be anyone quite like you. No-one else will see as clearly through your insightful thoughts and dreams. Like a patchwork quilt, pieces sewn into the very design you have created by being what you are today, made from yesterdays flowing into tomorrows and onward into time it's self.
The English take tea, and the french make love, I search for fireflies. Little glimmers of light like fairies in the night, all on a mid-summers eve.
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