(no subject)
Apr. 17th, 2003 02:23 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
kuangningTwo-thirty AM, and sleep is very far away from me. I'm watching the sky again, lost in half-thoughts that come and go like the moonlight.
This is what I know.
I know that clouds scatter, blow into wisps... but that they gather, too. I know that the winds die down, dart away, change direction, even blow in circles at times... but I have felt the force of a hurricane, huddled nervous overwarm in my bed while winds regrouped and concentrated bent stout trees double outside my window. I have held a kite string in my hands and felt a steady tug. I know the winds and the clouds return.
I have stood on sand, my feet rapidly drying, and watched while coquinas scuttled to bury themselves, saw the waves fail to turn them up again. And yet I know that the tides turn.
All of those things I know, how weather runs in cycles, how Nature loves patterns, and yet.
I never wondered before if coquinas feel naked and unanchored when the tide abandons them, or whether they face it with equanimity. But I know that tonight has been a night of waiting for the tides to turn again. I feel rather like those clouds -- ragged, worn thin, pieces being teased away.
I'm on my way back to bed now, though. And overnight, there should be time enough for Cairstens, clouds, winds, and coquinas to regroup.
See you tomorrow, LJ world.
This is what I know.
I know that clouds scatter, blow into wisps... but that they gather, too. I know that the winds die down, dart away, change direction, even blow in circles at times... but I have felt the force of a hurricane, huddled nervous overwarm in my bed while winds regrouped and concentrated bent stout trees double outside my window. I have held a kite string in my hands and felt a steady tug. I know the winds and the clouds return.
I have stood on sand, my feet rapidly drying, and watched while coquinas scuttled to bury themselves, saw the waves fail to turn them up again. And yet I know that the tides turn.
All of those things I know, how weather runs in cycles, how Nature loves patterns, and yet.
I never wondered before if coquinas feel naked and unanchored when the tide abandons them, or whether they face it with equanimity. But I know that tonight has been a night of waiting for the tides to turn again. I feel rather like those clouds -- ragged, worn thin, pieces being teased away.
I'm on my way back to bed now, though. And overnight, there should be time enough for Cairstens, clouds, winds, and coquinas to regroup.
See you tomorrow, LJ world.
