It is dark well into the morning. The day hides beneath rain; I hide beneath down covers. During this holiday from school, many books have receieved my attention. I am reading at a modest pace, slowly as I know there is time tomorrow as well. Life should not be based on the hectic notion that forty-eight hours are yours weekly, free and clear. That's just not enough. The trap that holds me to my car is the same as holds me to my job. What ever would I do if I were not (unhappily) turning the pages of a calander (waiting for spring). This is my resolution: to live fully and love with all of my heart. In a recent attack of the ever imposing future on my present state, I came to the conclusion that the future is a mutiable dream. This current state of here and now overlap, allowing me to focus.
I wake up and it is raining heavily. January in the northwest is always wet. Walking across the quagmire to my mailbox, I loose a shoe in the muck. I sit and drink tea, and wonder about the bulbs germinating.
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