It's Spring, and the light and dark are in balance. Our apartment must be some kind of Stonehengey thing, because this morning the light came streaming in directly in warm, vibrant urgency. Direct light is exceedingly rare in our place. "Spring," it whispered, "is not like last year, nor the year before. You are a field who has laid fallow, ready now for planting. Let me grow in you."
...I swear, the light really did say that.
The light that talks to me generally says things with a brittle, nasty sort of smirk in its voice, and it says things like, "You're wasting me. It's so easy for me to slip away. Oh! See? There I go!"
Still, you can almost smell Spring in the air now. Almost. It has that freeze-stale edge to it yet. Maure | Homepage | 03.21.06 - 5:46 pm | #