Composed March 9, Throwback post, posted it and apparently it disappeared, but it's never too late.
spring air
do you dare?
finding it fair
emerge from lair!
spring air
So, the Spring could be "defined"(ugh definitions, keep your pen and paper away) as "when it's less cold", but also I swear the blossoming of many little flowering trees must accumulate to orchestrate the alluring air quality and smell that is apparent every spring. Same thing in the fall when the leaves decay, the air seems so crisp, and that is why the spring and fall are two of my most beloved seasons - for their distinct atmosphere.
I also swear this spring fling for the senses is unsettling in a chaotically confounding manner - whether it gets you excited to get out of 4 hour Biology lab, or makes you sad as you drive by the bustling park of joggers and walkers, or it beckons you as you sit inside, window cracked to get a tease of the air. It just seems that despite the peaceful opening of nature outside, that some infiltration of unrest occurs from the very moment this air finds our noses and insides. Is this not accurately applied to everyone this time? Maybe you've been on canned O2 this whole time, and I'm talking to myself? But have you compared the inside and outside air? Taken some breaths, presently in each?
Or maybe it's the solar eclipse yesterday that apparently has us all astronomically disturbed? http://www.usatoday.com/story/news/nation-now/2016/03/09/solar-eclipse-alaska-airlines-flight/81544816/ I don't quite think that is the entire reason if at all. Honestly, maybe it's that I am thinking about what it is. But that doesn't take away from just the sheer awesomeness of what I have breathed.
Just. Go. GO. Go breathe it. Do stuff outside. My favorite thing is listening to the trees in the wind. It is deeply assuring. Next level is to climb it in the wind and feel the tree move with it. But be careful, have the fire department on call if you're too scared to land on all fours.. Just kidding.
If you read my last post, you'll know what to do (trick suggestion).
n joy
Grant
Oblate Cement
ReplyDeleteBreathe deep, the mattering bloom,
Watch lights splayed in every plume.
Zed-splitter people hook back and foment,
Another day's deuce-less energy dent.
Impassioned covers nestle as won,
A groanly man cries for “of” and has Son,
A hue mother kicks up and chuckles her pun,
Fam’liar artisans dish genuine.
Fold-started orb that fools the knight;
Reproves the puzzler from axite.
But thread the way, and fellow wright,
but we’re beside the itch to write.
And glitch is the allusion?
A playing with Moody Blues Drummer Graeme Edge's poem "Late Lament".