Tuesday, October 23, 2007

when it rains, it pours.

The air is suddenly chilled, a product of the eternal rains. Glassy pools spread atop concrete planes awaiting the saturation of dragging hems, one of my most rued peeves. Another day is lost to a new brand of luck I have contracted. I would willingly stand in line, wet pants and all, if I might receive an effective elixir for this shadow of ill will. I long to sit and write of sunshine, both literal and proverbial. I'd love to talk of love. Love in Autumn. We'd sit carelessly beneath a ripe, red tree with leaves so brilliant that only children might replicate them in crayon. He and I would swap sugary glances and kiss while blue birds belted harmonies from the boughs. And then both you and I would cringe at the syrup-laden atrocity that had become my blog.

Moving on...

In seriousness, I wish that I could present something profound and beautiful, but all I am is cold puddles and the clouds that hang low and gray. Perhaps I have filled my plate too full and this is the ungraceful clattering of its spill onto the floor. Soon, maybe soon, I'll come out of this hole with intriguing subject matter [and a smile]. Until then, might you settle for wintry rain and a heart tired from the missing?

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