I hope that like me, you have days that are the best days ever. Probably, like me, you have days that are a giant pile of triceratops excrement. And then there are days like today. Today isn’t high, it isn’t low, it just IS.
The day looks pretty, but the wind cuts through your clothes like you are wearing nothing. I went for a short walk near lunch and heard some motorcycles and almost wished I had mine. Some days you have to put on so many clothes to ride, it isn’t worth it. Some days.
I’m not very good at waiting. I want to know how to be patient, but I don’t want to wait for it. As I get more “mature” I find it harder to stay in the now. I want my toys and my leisure and I don’t want to wait on them, but I want the whole measure of time allotted to me. All that sounds kind of morose, maybe it’s my natural melancholy rearing it’s ugly head.
I can see the good days better now and remember the bad days less vividly. In the deepest of my dark days, time seemed to stand still and I felt as if I would never see the light again. Those times seem kind of blurry now, like looking at things with my glasses off. The present is clearer, but not 20/20. The future is more sharply focused, like putting on freshly cleaned sunglasses.
Grief is a strange companion, it smacks you when you least expect it and ignores you when you think it will overcome you. This winter has been like that, too. As this never ending winter hopefully draws to a close and hits of summer appear through the snow showers, so too does hope offer hints of some of those best days ahead.
Spring brings memories of winter past and glimpses of summer yet to come. (I wrote that, not some “famous” poet.)
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