The bed is warm and soft. All “good” things in life are warm and soft. With the exception of my dogs nose and the rain.

There is a serenity in rain. A sense passed down from earlier man. The farmer. This serenity is born from tiny drops falling on the window sill. I leave the window open to let in the smell and the sound, the serenity. It makes me wonder, does the world happen outside or inside. By inside I mean inside my mind. Outside there is rain and dirt. Has always been that way. Inside my head their is the impression of these things, removed from what they actually are. What they represent. That is poetry at it’s very core, I think.

So while the drops fall and the gray clouds roll over head like a sweeping ocean to light to be bothered with gravity, I sit here at this computer screen with the windows open and write this down. Feeling very peaceful now. And the idea that life is more inside than outside seems egotistical. How can I assume that the worlds impression for me, that I am writing down here, is anything at all. I am just the raindrop and this world is the storm.

As I go forward into the day, when I step into my office, sit at my chair, enter things into my computer, I will try to consider this peaceful moment. Perhaps then the transvaluation will be most ironic. The world inside my head, this moment now, will be something else then. What it represented.

I am sorry I have not been able to write enough lately. My mind is consumed with things that do not lend to words. At least not the words that I would like to write here. I have been thinking about home. About the things that I miss that I never thought I would miss. Of course I miss my family, I dream about them. I have never dreamt about them before. Which I guess is kind of nice really. To be able to dream of them. The strange things that I miss are really just moments like this one.

I miss driving over the bridge as the sun is setting. It doesn’t matter which way I am going because the feeling is always the same. With the sky lit up in a perfect combination of color and the clouds swirling like a painting, the water calm and dark. For that minute suspended over the water it feels like life is limitless for me. I am at once a young child riding over in the late morning, sitting in the back seat, my whole while family going to the beach. I am also a young man driving over with my friends, feeling a little drunk. The bridge represents something for me. Life itself perhaps. The journey from one side to the other.

Perhaps, right now, as you are reading this, you are somewhere that is dear to you. Or perhaps you are somewhere you have never considered. It is my hope that you can sense at lease a part of where I am. A sense taken from these words. Perhaps you can smell the rain or feel the soft breeze emanating from my open window. It is my hope that a small chill runs up your spine and you take that feeling with you. Keep it in your gut and let it assimilate to your core.

It is my hope that from these words you can borrow the serenity that I have captured in this moment.


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