I want the spring but can’t help noticing how lovely the snow is coming…like twirling pieces of confetti, a thousand souls gently falling. Perhaps they will water my spring flowers.
If you feel despair as you sometimes do before your sleeping toes even touch the floor, wait, despair will flee, will be pushed away perhaps if only while you feel the warmth of your coffee cup this morning.
February so far has brought death, despair and suicide notes, a book of unexpected poems, a greeting from a long lost friend on a Rothko card.
It’s true what someone once said you can hear ” The Almost Sound of Snow Falling”….
Go and walk outside breathe and taste the falling dancing happy snow it may be the last chance to hear your soul falling, somehow the snow outside, the pure prehistoric whiteness made even the dirty dusty dingy house inside, fresher, cleaner, and not just to my mind but to my very eyes.
Walking to the bus stop I know that this one day or maybe just one hour is my last chance to feel my cares float away like the falling snow, an eternity from cloud to ground.
I live in a suburb of an American City. I write to try and understand myself and the world around me. I love nature, art, music, literature and beauty in all its forms. I love food. But then food is a whole other world.... I think the world has gone mad and many of us will soon go insane from living in this world.
What I love almost more than anything is my garden. I love its trees its shrubs and its many flowers. I love the birds, their flying and singing and dancing movements in and out of the sky and garden. Their freedom. I could watch birds all day long. They always bring joy.
I love to work in my garden. To get muddy and dirty, digging, weeding, mowing, pruning and deadheading. Then, I like to have a cool glass of white wine or red, or sometimes a Manhattan, and drink in hand, I walk around and look at the fruits of my labor. And that walk each and every day in my little paradise.. because that is what gardens are.... brings me almost complete joy...
My blog is whennothingworks because for a long time nothing has worked. Friends, family, jobs, money, houses, careers, lovers, things--- it all just doesn't work sometimes, or most of the time. The garden always works. Nature and its beauty always work. And, in my garden, I can sit quietly and think, or just breathe, and somehow manage to survive the world.
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Love the title and your first para. Sounds poetic and romantic.
On Thu, Dec 8, 2016 at 10:05 PM, whennothingworks wrote:
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