Feelings

Feelings

The sky’s cloudy but the air beneath its silvered canopy is crisp and the mountain scape’s verdure is brilliant. Nascent clouds steam from hidden beds to join their elder siblings. In the background, Joan Baez sings of diamonds and rust, lost loves and robin’s eggs while I sit and ponder feelings, trying to analyze just how and why they work.

Love’s an addiction according to a friend of mine who through deep introspection, will power and grace, claims to have overcome it and urges me to do the same. I wonder if that can be true, but then, I seem to be addicted to air and water, food and sleep and other things it would be best not to do without. I wonder if love’s like that.

The skein unravels, sometimes slowly, other times in dramatic spurts but always obscured by nebulous tendrils so that one can never truly tell what’s about to occur. Lately the skein has been much more heavily shrouded evading all plans I lay to guide it my way. I make believe that I’m merely wondering if love has anything to do with it but I’m pretty sure I know the answer.

The sky’s cloudy but the air beneath its silvered canopy is crisp and the mountain scape’s verdure is brilliant. Nascent clouds steam from hidden beds to join their elder siblings. In the background, Joan Baez sings of diamonds and rust, lost loves and robin’s eggs while I sit and ponder feelings, trying to analyze just how and why they work.
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© Guillermo Calvo Mahé; Manizales, 2013; all rights reserved

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