Thursday, December 13, 2007

Snow storm

Walked a mile into Chelsea to eat Basque cheese, truffle cheese, and drink three different wines with the wild entrepeneur D, accompanied by a Fabulous friend.  She puts up with fits of adventurous trekking, not only in remarkable weather, but remarkably in adventurous weather.

The boy locked himself out, shoveled the walks and wrote LOG in script in the snow.

The Dog leapt like a deer, the lights shine so bright surrounded by the white and the sparkle and the quiet.

I realize my voice has been muted. Time to write.

I like vistors in my aloneness, lovers, friends, supporting cast but the essence needs be alone. The quiet of a city after a storm. The muted tones of chaos at rest for a moment, the waiting white. Potential.

Alone I can be visited, consoled, pinged, approached, consulted, seduced, invited.

 Potential is precious. 



1 comment:

the psycho therapist said...

I love the quiet after any kind of storm-rain, snow, emotional, mental, physical,soul. I just love quiet. I tend to cultivate it, missing it as much as I did when growing up.

Snow feels like it washes air clean and lovingly blankets the grime of humanity, if only for the briefest of "nows". There is a palpable moment between "what was" and "what is now" with each falling flake. For me, however, it is the moment between the snow-covered "what was" and the melting "What is now" that is the source of personal angst. I mourn the loss of pristine beauty, quiet and potential--I am sad when letting such things go. Life.

The waiting white.
I liked this. Perfectly captures interior/exterior landscapes.

Good to see you again.

~ Wendy