After two weeks of shivering in jeans and a sweatshirt, yesterday was heaven on earth; both my temperature and the weather’s having regulated themselves at long last.
The sunshine and the fluffy clouds and the cheerful blue sky united in the sort of heady combination that spells doom to wanna-be poets, who naively produce stuff about meadows and little birdies and other such rubbish. I’m a wanna-be too, but no longer that naïve.
Still, it was a perfect day, and I had forgotten that any such existed, what with begrudging the necessity of sweatshirts in tank-top weather, gulping disgustly hot tea, and generally feeling sorry for myself.
I’m glad to find that humanity and God’s green earth are still here where I left them.
The sunshine and the fluffy clouds and the cheerful blue sky united in the sort of heady combination that spells doom to wanna-be poets, who naively produce stuff about meadows and little birdies and other such rubbish. I’m a wanna-be too, but no longer that naïve.
Still, it was a perfect day, and I had forgotten that any such existed, what with begrudging the necessity of sweatshirts in tank-top weather, gulping disgustly hot tea, and generally feeling sorry for myself.
I’m glad to find that humanity and God’s green earth are still here where I left them.
1 Comments:
Sounds like your yourself again. That's good!
I understand what you mean about that kind of poetry.
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