Recalculated investment

The mist is finally breaking over the valley, and here upon the western-facing hill the tenderest of blue escapes an ever-present silver. Comforted by tea and piled library books concerning European history, the kitchen washed and the sunflowers just holding back against fading in their vase; a quiet picture of life is painted, and I allow myself the morning’s vacation. Things feel all the safer when the Sun has risen, yet the sound of crows brings forth regret; as Summer passes we all too soon forget the misery of heat and flies and remember that we never did accomplish what could have been in the lushness and splendor it provided. What to do with a Summer? Like a precious jewel it beckons us along through cold and expectation. It smolders around me, and the expanse of greenery and life almost too much to handle, yet gone too quickly.

How do I escape it, then? The cycle of up and down, good days and bad, lost expectations and joy in being. It’s probably meant to be like this, and most likely the churning pulse of this sort of living is slowly and surely polishing away, milling me down to the usable fruitful corn, and sending all shaft to the wind. Maybe I place myself in the sandstorm in a lingering fascination with all that is pulled away. That I felt something deeply seems to be reason enough for me to linger over its departure, and everyday almost I say a long farewell to former friends unreturning. Watching myself change seems to be the hardest part, for fear, most likely, of loosing the tiny pearls of self-understanding that have lasted through all previous shifting.

Like the pang of regret when an imperfect tooth is dentisted back to unnoticable compliance with the rest of mouth-life, or when irrepressible harried-looking meadows are severely mown back into tidiness, so I wince a little at the release of tired old emotions, so I sigh a little as the little corners of me are cleaned. Maybe this is a long lesson in prudent investment, and just like the rest of the country I’m watching sacred stocks plummet because, as it turns out, they were based on something false. So we all wind down to the harvest. A little patience, a little detachment, and by and by, I’m sure I’ll be provided for, cared for, and prepared for whatever next stage of living awaits me.