Ink and mauve skies

When a thousand thoughts run through your head
And you don’t write them down.
They seem like forgotten memories,

You’ll never get back.

 

When you can’t write about someone you want to write about,
because the details are too fragile.
Too broken.
Thoughts disappear forever. Like waking from a dream and not recording it in the real world.

That’s why some artists paint. The idea of recapturing the moment in ochre or cerulean is like a release of internal reverie that can’t be explained in the same way that words can.

Entire bodies of work surge through me.
And then they are gone.

So today was full.
Family full in the biggest, not so good ways you could think of.
Emotionally full.
Worryingly full.
I know tomorrow will be better.
And then I doubt my random positivity.

Then at one point I found myself feeling more settled and my head began to fill with all these random thoughts.

Rebecca Solnit entered my world thanks to Laurie Anderson.

This lead to The Language of Flowers.

Then came Terry Tempest Williams,

and what it means to be on the edge.

I’m on the edge of….{that next big thing I want to pursue}

This lead to me reading some Rainer Rilke. Wanting to read more.

Before Summer Rain

Suddenly, from all the green around you,
something-you don’t know what-has disappeared;
you feel it creeping closer to the window,
in total silence. From the nearby wood

you hear the urgent whistling of a plover,
reminding you of someone’s Saint Jerome:
so much solitude and passion come
from that one voice, whose fierce request the downpour

will grant. The walls, with their ancient portraits, glide
away from us, cautiously, as though
they weren’t supposed to hear what we are saying.

And reflected on the faded tapestries now;
the chill, uncertain sunlight of those long
childhood hours when you were so afraid.

{Instead of the plover, it was the Eastern Koel
across the river in another suburb. Far far away}

I stood outside and watched the storm slowly roll in.
Ink and mauve skies.
The rain was quiet for a good 90 minutes before I couldn’t hear the crap I had turned on the tv.

Then it poured.

There was a strange calmness in the house.