Letting mind go where it wants to go, oh the relief, the life, the floating away of grief where sorrow encases a big pile of heavy days load, and time shovels the crud away. Scoop by scoop by scoop, one scoop a day, one scoop away. Weight bogs and bends and buries. You cry and sigh and terry. Wishing and hoping away the bad dreams, the yesterdays, the good, the bad, the in-betweens. Feet slogging through mud until boots are sucked beneath the surface, and bare feet become shiny and glossy crimson, meeting hot coals beneath the mud.
A voice in sadness beckons from reading words, Murakami...reminding of a marriage...sleeping next to someone, feeling alone, to lie beside and feel alone....how sad it is to be next to that someone. Never so unbearable, oppressive, depressive, smothering as the mud bogging down, sucking feet into hot coals, waiting for that day of freedom, to walk with bare feet across cooling grass...reaching a place of calm.
Morning breaks. Cool air takes care. Blue skies wash over eyes. Tears dry. Musings call, call, call me home to ramble in thought, set free as a feather, to float in the air, drifting words, catching words, tossing words up, up and up off the ground...light beckons, light as a feather, no sadness to be found.