Monday, January 10, 2005

It is not Still, Still it is winter,

It's been windy, gusty, not too nice. Heavy floods in Carlisle. Under the numbness, I'm feeling yearnings for summer. I even went back to June in my Archives, to remind myself! How funny it is to read things that I have forgotten I had written! I didn't know it was possible to entertain yourself this way. I always knew that I was two totally different people in winter versus summer.

It gives me an idea that has never really crossed my mind, which must be the engine of some writers. To take your one person, and to write it for another part of you. So SummerMe can write little loving Blog Posts to be read by WinterMe, 6 months later. I really like this idea. Couldn't be more self-loving than that, can you?

Dear SummerMe,

My eyes and soul and heart yearn to stand on a beach before the sea, in a warm breeze, the heat of sunshine falling on my naked skin. Blue, in a cloudless sky. Blue on a stretching sea. Flanked on the left and right by protective headlands, green. Trees behind me. Sand on my left. Sand on my right.

I yearn so much I've managed to cry just thinking about it. Tsunamis cannot stop that desire. I will be back to Thailand, one day. Or some such.


I have walls, I have lights, I even have enough heat, and now I have somewhere to go from Mondays to Fridays. But it is nothing like the Freedom of Summer. Colin reminded me of the bike ride to Brighton I did last August . It is so long buried by our Season of Darkness, that it is hard for me to imagine how I even got as far as Eltham. The most beautiful thing I remember most, I summarized into one sentence: "I was looking at Ashdown Forest and marvelling at the beautiful Pine trees". How terse I was. No mention that dusk was settling over me. Nor that I had the smooth tarmaced road entirely to myself, even without cars. Nor that the gorse and pine left a crystal sweet scent in the air, the smell of which is heaven to think of, more so now when my sinuses still will not let me breathe clearly. Nor that there was the pristine solitude I felt, of at last getting away from the hell of human population, at last free and unencumbered, even if for just a few hours, at the mercy of Nature's bosom.


But in the morning I will be back to my magnolia painted walls, in my battery human farm, under my fluorescent light, faced by the radiant smile of my computer screen. It pays me money. That's civilization. Bring back my God.

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