I'm relaxing in a hammock. with a blanket for the wind.
Painted my nails this morning, and they're already a little dented.
Dog cruled up nicely on the grass next to me.
Looking up at the sunlight through the leaves, but perfectly shaded.
Pandora is playing.
This is one facet of a perfect summer day.
I feel like I could fade into the wind.
Not even my sunburn could keep me tethered.
Why did we build indoors?
How do we get stuck there?
Its not where we belong.
Wednesday, June 8, 2011
Here is a little more from Celia Land. Such a work in progress, but this is one of my very favorite bits.
The pic isn't much, but its all I had for night time.
It was Saturday. She was painting. Not directly on the walls, but on some cardboard she had tacked up. It was a nightscape, planets and stars and every thing in dark, moonlit shades. The flowers that grew by the moonlight were the most stunning. They represented her soul. As she understood it. All the nights she had the later shift, and came home and went outside to stare at the stars. Sometimes she waited and the clouds never gave her a hole. Sometimes she fell asleep and woke, freezing, to the most beautiful sights. Constellations she had memorized, slowing moving across the sky to positions she’d never before witnessed due to the stupid sleeping schedule inflicted on her by others.Those nights her soul was the flowers, beautiful and dim. No longer stunning and resplendent as they had been in the day. This night had been going on about two years now, and she didn’t see the sun begging to rise anytime soon. For the flowers in the painting, they would never see day, perhaps they never had. Her soul felt the same, it vaguely remembered the times before, when her hair was light and she had danced through her house, driving Amanda crazy. But now things were different.