I often see others as difficult. Myself? …. as easy. Mostly I think they see me the other way ’round.
Saturday morning calm, like a glassy lake surface – shattered when phone rings or a fish leaps simply for the joy of being a fish – then calm again, black coffee sipping, wishing I was figuring out life better. Sooner …
You know, I’ve always wanted one.
Could be that cabin in some woods or home overlooking a beach, trip on a lark, bench in a park, we all have them – secret places we go, places of peace, tranquility, sunny skies and light breezes. My hiding away place.
I’ve always had one, but a different sort.
Place I go in my mind – no passengers allowed, a quiet place where discussion, argument or decision have no place to be. A room in my brain without corners, nowhere to hide, a multi-dimensional mini-universe where memories and hopes collide, where seldom is heard, a discouraging word …
But we don’t spend much time in that place, do we?
Our lives are not insanely public, but they are on display.
I/We reveal, and have revealed, warts and wounds of life displayed every time I/we interact with someone. I/we déjà vu ourselves while daydreaming in mid conversation remembering sometime else, somewhere else with someone else and I/we smile and cry about it. I/we don’t let it show but anyone with us knows something else is going on but hopefully they don’t know us well enough to pry, don’t know enough to guess why, don’t have status to request explanation …
And moments pass by.
To getaway places.
column written/ published from Calgary, AB
morning walk: 3C/38F, light clouds and a steady breeze – Gusta compliant, my knee … well my knee isn’t having a great morning; we saw nothing of note because we strolled our regular path undisturbed my rabbits or magpies, unfettered by traffic or pedestrians deep in thought and clearing sleep cobwebs of a week with too much do and not enough sleep in it.
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