Wet...

roads, and the birds are leaving, in messy formations, cutting through the skies. But today, I find none, the sky is white, turning gray, and the sun veiled by ethereal murkiness, remains out of sight. I long for its touch, its warmth -a longing that matters not. Once again, I have come to that fork on the road...

There are beaches of golden sand and gleaming water, beyond the clouds, beyond the gloom. I know them in my thoughts. I carry them in my blood, and in every bone, every fleshy fibrous strand and, let us just say, even in every microscopic cell held within this 'I' I have become. There is laughter and pleasure and joy, as I felt them once, as I glimpse now through these misty eyes of mine - a lingering visitor from a distant past.

Torn, between here and there, I go on sighing. 'Unhealthy,' you might say, and what for but a fantasy, a lustrous chimera of things past. What of the 'Here and the Now?' What of being alive, and appreciative for one's blessings. in this present moment?

And I answer, 'Yes, you're absolutely right. But please try to understand, a dreamer is a dreamer, no more no less, a wish his world. I am weak, mostly living in my head. I am weak, too aware of the possibilities and the lost potential. I am broken, and I don't really need mending.'

Every day that passes, I think of this... Every that passes, could tell you this.

Be well, and don't let your dreams separate you from your roots -it might seem fun, but there just isn't any turning back.

A flake in the wind