Have You Ever

Been inspired by a textbook?

Awoken Early One Dark Morning

To words flowing in seamless sentences through the mind,

Stream of between consciousness

Turned poetic gush when pencil

Is finally placed sleepily upon paper?

Dreamt of a shiny, lacquered Wooden Bench

Blinding in its bright design of peppercorn-sized colorful shapes in patterns 

like Polish Pottery

only more wildly colorful and supposedly from Egypt

but reminiscent of Russia?

How about this. 

Heard your name {in its nick form} drift from another room 

by adored friends, responded grudgingly from a desk

softly lit in mid-night shadow,

to their call:

Look at the snow.

Shrouding Seattle. 

This Morning's Night. 

a sense of place.

I only want to.

I see no problem with loosing 

oneself

often.

It builds humbleness 

and a stronger sense

of the power

of the personal narrative.

Freedom.

to meander down dusty roads

in thought and in body

turning eyes to the sun

and back to the dust.

to feel the beginnings of spring

forcing its wobbly, kinetic energy 

through layers of silent winter sun 

in spindly tendrils of molecules upon bare skinned faces. 

to let the place consume the Self

then realize it, murky thick air

through which the body moves

in the rush to orient the Self whilst separated into the Other. 

{first photo via ffound.

second and third photos via Joanna Goddard, by Linn Photography.} 

chills.

Loving The Gardner by The Tallest Man on Earth.

When I’m feeling under the weather. And the weather is all about a thin layer of entirely unexpected snow under bright blue skies.

Pull on an old thick sweater, brown and knobby, wrap up physically then mentally with plucky notes from a guitar somewhere is Sweden.

And feel the chills.