One glance worth of thought

on a beautiful day i climb into the sky and float away,
fall into the clouds and settle in,
tell all the tiny people on the ground
I'm never coming down.


I'll make friends with a kite,
see if it'll teach me how to fly,
close my eyes as the wind falls across my face,
you know, they won't miss me anyway.


today as I was walking across campus i thought of how the day felt like 'Raining at Sunset' by Christ Thile. The song does indeed feel like raining at sunset, yet I felt that it also fit such a day as today. Perhaps 'Wind Across the Hills' would be a suitable second title. The wind would twirl across the green hills hand in hand, wonderful visual in that... The clouds would be alive and in motion, there will be brightly colored kites... no, just one. Odd how when you, or at least when I, think of a kite flying an a beautiful day I just picture the kite. Perhaps it would be better to see the person flying the kite, or to be the person flying the kite...
No, I want to be the kite. Perhaps one day a kite will teach me all there is to know about living. Or at least flying. Dancing with the wind... my soul already does that and could indeed teach the kite a few things.




-introvert disclaimer wishes to inform you that the two sections that appear first in this post are not my attempt at poetry, i just said what i thought at the moment. /end irrational fear of others thinking i think i'm better than i really am.

I aim for A to B, I accomplish A to Z (...and then forget it all)

as I was sitting and reading along it occurred to me that I could be reading a book for my Christian Belief's class...
I debated the subject in my head a bit...
Because you know I was choosing to read a novel in the stead of learning about God.

...but no, wait, i really do learn more about God from reading such books as Everything is Illuminated or the other book by that author, Extremely Loud & Incredibly Close than I do from reading theology.

This realization was flawlessly come to in my head and haltingly set down to type, yet all the same regardless of what I write...

I remember moments.

and while I knew that I learned about God differently than most of my classmates...

It's nice to have the thought envelop me, if only for a moment.

Back in sixth grade when I began to walk the mile or so home by myself I would laugh at how well spoken I was on my walks outside in that dusty and run down midwestern town. Cicadas heralded the dry grass, a broken metal fence harbored brown vines long succumbed to heat, the creek bed next to the fence that held a collection of plastic bags and pepsi bottles washed over in brown dirt, the form of which proved that water has in fact once existed, the broken asphalt glittering with broken molasses colored beer bottles...

ah, small wonder I find such solace in the rain... my run down town was washed clean, the plastic bags washed away, the old grayed streets looks black and shiny, the washed out lots and houses looked well-kept while the gray sky caused the green grass to explode into your eyes and take over your mind... always finding four leafed clovers on the ball diamond... watching as the poorly graffitied 'Praise the LORD' on the tires at the Lion's club playground slowly faded away. Slowly yet outlasting the other graffiti. 

I watched these things and said it better than I ever could write it. Thought it better than I could speak it. Live the words better than if someone walked with me, in which case I wouldn't say anything fantastic anyway as no one understood. Suppose I've been conditioned.

*takes a walk to the box office, thinks a myriad of wonderful thoughts, forgets them upon sitting down. point proven.*

You know, I have changed a great deal but not really.

I have always known how to react to myself, I've been the same yet matured and aged as anyone would. Yes, that warrants some change, but not if the foundation (other than the worthlessness one that was destroyed) and crucial ideals remain the same. Like when I contemplated the brevity of the moment in third grade while sitting in the countryside at my babysitter's house. Watching the falling sun and the green clovered grass, smelling the air, sitting on a double chair swing attached to a rickety old swing set. That's still me.

What has changed... 

I suppose how I react to other people.

I took a winding road to social acceptance and comfort. Not my chosen path, yet it was the one thrust upon me and I walked it as best I could, even when it left my reactions to myself in turmoil.
Except for those moments when You allowed me to glimmer to the surface... 

I'm pretty sure I wanted to say something other than what I ended up with.

Yet I'm not complaining one bit!

...oh look, a metaphor...

When the ice matches the glint in your eye...

My dear snowy winter's evening,
I do admire your choice of clarity yet a sense of mist and moisture about...
The light twinkling through the trees was perfect.