no guts.

ah, shit.

my writing jag crashed, and so did i.

i slept with my window open, just an inch to let in the wet air. this morning, the fresh wet scent filled my room. i woke, i stretched, and the scent, which should have been a welcome one, which is normally a welcome one, was today, not.

somehow, it reminded me of days half my life ago, when all my hopes were ahead of me, and everything was yet to be done. and they're gone. they are only a waking reminder on a breath of air.

squandered time, and none left.

and yesterday's joy in writing is today's ashen grief.




it is a dead end day, for a dead end life.

better than mischief.

the following is from something i wrote on another blog, but i wanted to post part of it here, too. i want this reminder of this magical thing, this gift, this experience i had that actually, literally, changed my life. it isn't often you can pinpoint a single event that picks you up and puts you back down facing a brand new direction, and it's even more rare when that event is something wonderful.




i'm glad i've been a part of this, i'm glad i've had the chance to become friends with people from around the world without leaving my chair. i'm on a completely different path than i would have been, and though it's rocky right now, i'm glad to be heading in this new direction.

and i'm very glad to have been able to read your posts, all of them -- the scary ones, the silly ones, the stories, the riddles, the beautiful prose, and the beautiful poetry.

you're the author of this blog; you started it, and the ending belongs to you.


and so i'll be hanging out here until then (because i'm kind of silly loyal like that) and when i'm not here on this comfy ol' couch of yours i'll be out exploring that new beginning i found here.

hope you did, too.

take care, my friend. good night, and sweet dreams.

i choose to believe in daffodils.

technically, it's spring now, you know.

oh, i know it doesn't look like it. i don't see any flowers, either. but we've turned the corner, and there's no going back.

look closely, and you'll see buds on the branches. tiny, but there, all the same. look again, and you'll see little shoots in the flower beds and margins, fierce and green.

hang onto those signs, even when the nights are cold.

have faith in spring.

candlemas.

I am the sweet breeze of pre-dawn,
The first hint that night's nearly gone.
-from The Pagan Book of Hours

(lauds, the first song of the day.)