For The Sunday Muse prompt #117: ** Breathe, in spite of beauty, in spite of the frailty of the blue orb floating free beneath your feet, stunning you. Breathe, because of beauty because the earth hugs you like a mother tethers her unborn child fragile in its parts guiding, calling, growing feeding. Breathe, because home centres you because wherever you are times and seasons are locked in an eternal dance Breathe, because.
Maybe it is the shock of the delayed cognition of turning 39 - perilously close to the age of eternal foolishness - or the weariness of dealing on and off with death and grieving that births this feeling hovering over me that I can’t quite place. It is not entirely inscrutable: the little I understand of it suggests part of it is a heightened sense of my own fragility, the deaths - ranging from old classmates of mine to friends of my father’s - underscoring the fleeting nature of life and with it the sense of time speeding by. The other part that rears its head from the haze is the feeling of drifting, one day blurring into the next which is barely distinguishable from the one that follows it with the only discernible purpose being fighting whatever fire glows brightest both at work and in my personal life. ...