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Hollow-Holler
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October 28, 2010 - 9:57
There is something about this mood that leaves me very vulnerable to physical beauty. Certain colors shock, delight. Especially outside, where the sky is so flat, and then a rust colored thorn bush interrupts. Or the verdure of a clover plant beneath the black stream, ("like green, clean brains"), shivs me, makes me sad and glad. Hands and hair, usually nice anyhow, are almost too pretty not to touch. A blonde elder woman on the bus, a soft spotted hand resting on her knee that I wanted to make my pet.
I am at many moments throughout the day on the verge of shedding a few grateful tears for a peripheral loveliness that means everything to me, but doesn't notice me at all. This all sounds silly I guess, but I am just very glad for this relief-reflex my brain offers me.
I sometimes forget I am designed to survive.
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