(no subject)
Jan. 29th, 2004 05:12 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
kuangningLast words of the morning, I swear.
I'm looking around, reassessing the landscape -- those first tentative moments when you lift your face to the sky and wonder what the day's going to bring, before you step out in trust.
I'm not back yet. But tonight I laughed till I cried, and cried as I smiled at thoughts, at words, at people ... welcomed some old voices back, dear familiar ghosts whose touch I've missed. Opened my heart to someone I've shut out for a long time, and not on purpose. Given, yes, and received, too.
The evergreens, brash and sturdy, are huddled together under the unaccustomed weight of ice sheathing their needles. They don't seem to look for spring, and why should they? Winter is when they get to shine. But all along the roadsides, there's a flush of pink, pre-bud, promising life under the leafless, ice-dressed branches. The crepe myrtles always know the news first.
Spring's not far off. It's not here yet -- the pond we pass on the way home is still sporting a winter-crafted mirror, leaves and clouds drifting silent and curiously dry over it. But soon, the ice will thaw... and so will I.
I'm looking around, reassessing the landscape -- those first tentative moments when you lift your face to the sky and wonder what the day's going to bring, before you step out in trust.
I'm not back yet. But tonight I laughed till I cried, and cried as I smiled at thoughts, at words, at people ... welcomed some old voices back, dear familiar ghosts whose touch I've missed. Opened my heart to someone I've shut out for a long time, and not on purpose. Given, yes, and received, too.
The evergreens, brash and sturdy, are huddled together under the unaccustomed weight of ice sheathing their needles. They don't seem to look for spring, and why should they? Winter is when they get to shine. But all along the roadsides, there's a flush of pink, pre-bud, promising life under the leafless, ice-dressed branches. The crepe myrtles always know the news first.
Spring's not far off. It's not here yet -- the pond we pass on the way home is still sporting a winter-crafted mirror, leaves and clouds drifting silent and curiously dry over it. But soon, the ice will thaw... and so will I.
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no subject
Date: 2004-01-29 04:15 am (UTC)*hugs*
Re:
Date: 2004-01-29 12:03 pm (UTC)