A bit of here and there; an anthology of random mental tweaks.

"A society grows great when old men plant trees the shade of which they know they will never sit in. Good people, do things for other people, without expecting anything in return."

A bit of a reflection; he has the least of grappling to discern where this is headed. Well, it is said, may the flow have its way.

Amongst the days where light has shone on bare "knuckles", there is an epitome of consciousness that has nothing to do with being sane or present. Well, the mind is miles away from what many will say is sanity or even satisfaction...

There is an old alibi that belts off the music system; one that declares how old souls we are. he reminiscences the year 1998, like it was yesterday, noontide, clear skies, calm with a humid waft of air from the midlands of the Rift; with a constant flutter of winds and warm tufts of air rising from the green fields of freshly weeded maize plantains. he could feel minute droplets of water on his face, yet the sky was as clear as day itself. From a distance, he could hear the rumbling thunder accompanied by ominous dark tufts of clouds, adorned with constant flashes of brilliant lights and shape shifts. Sundowners; a part of life itself that has symbolized a sense of direction and belonging could be heard from an old family heirloom, an eccentric "National" radio. Amidst all the clamor and racket surrounding a world trying to turn into a new century, Pops had tuned to the frequency 09:15 MHZ for the usual dose of sundowner music. Cindy Lauper's Time after Time could be heard soothing and etching core memories to those who cared to listen. Golden times those ones...

Adrift in the same boat; today lies down similar serendipity: a certain piece of fate cast in yonder one that can hardly be changed by the constant turn of the clock's arms. Time; like the universe itself, ticks oblivious of what we mortals experience. Of a certain case is a soul; so restless, so complicated, so free that it scares him witless. Like a free bird, a wind that caresses the skin, and roams free of prejudice and castigations. wholesome experiences seen gliding through envisages of the now modern socials, wafting through the mushy Pest's weather like a drunk angel with a halo of importance. Or is she?

He gazes; from the depths of extrication, musing and waiting... For time; as it ticks, waits for no man.

Memoir #2, Summer 2022.

Comments

Learning the ropes.

A reset is something that hits you when you least expect it. Just like sickness, it knocks at your door at odd hours, bringing with it a period of great adjustments and shifts. A bit of a background story, a couple of weeks ago, I was reading an anecdote by Norman Vincent Peale (the father of positive thinking) where the author posits that one should change their thoughts if they wish to change the world. This got me thinking; all those instances where I have seen people on the streets or in restaurants in seemingly boisterous conversations and showing broad smiles unassumingly made me think that they might be living life happier than mine. I assumed that they were happier than me or even smarter than me. Instances are rife where we sit in our little apartments imagining what it would be like to be someone else. That feeling that we often behold that everyone around you seems to be doing better than you, or the one where we feel that piles upon piles of decks are stack...

He Remembers.

He’d write you this letter, but he knows, the good ol’ days are gone. blame the vagaries of life. The bits that used to make your heart fluster; the butterflies in your stomach? This are words, poured into this piece, to remember a graceful person, to honor a time that made his world a place to relish. Truth be said, weathering this time is daunting and he got no idea how it is going to be. He’s held onto hope; he knows too well of it’s tingling taste in his mouth. He’s beheld countless nights of little to no sleep and unsettled sighs and heaves, oh the world that was! The song titled For You by John Denver bellows through the dark headphones tightly holding his sanity together, He can’t help but feel every second and minute pass by so slowly. That is a song he would be singing in the shower with an upbeat mood, relishing the gifts of life. It’s a heavy one this bit, He doesn’t know if his shoulders can hold onto the weight really. He is scared, not that the world’s turned colder...

The Psychology Of Color.

I came across this collection of colors and its psychological meaning and found great references that I can relate with. " Mere color, unspoiled by meaning, and unallied with definite form, can speak to the soul in a thousand different ways. - Oscar Wilde . " Picture Courtesy of inspirationalfeed.com Have a wonderful weekend up ahead! Gerry

Random Stirrings of The Mind.

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