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windy skies

16 juillet 2009

The sky is low. So low I feel how far it is from me. I can apprehend the distance. I can tell it's very far, and yet that the rain is near.

And I feel small and like I'm nothing, but that's OK.

I can stretch and feel the wind. It twirls around me, my hair, my clothes, it's not just touching the tip of my fingers. It sings and howls, it turns and make me walk. I must claw my feet in the sand, clench my fists and ground myself. Or I can close my eyes and walk freely, my head turned upwards in a giddy song. No laundry to play with today, but if I must run after my sheets and catch them in the bushes, I think I'll be OK with that.

I feel drunk. Five days detoxing from coffee, alcohol, candy and make up, and I'm drunk and dizzy, and I want to run and I'm five again. The real fivers are already running. I watch them and laugh, and I run after them and their red kites.

Kites are fun. Kites are a kindom. They fly high for you, higher, more, make it high Mom, until it's but a red spot in the clouds. But see, the string. It's in my hand, and now it's in yours. Take it. Run. You're the king, and see how the kite has to follow you. Kites dance too.

It is all right. I am small, I am nothing to this magestic nature. I can only rule my kite, and my kids

The sky is low, the sky is dark. It holds menacing rain.
Not some celtic joyful drops. Here, it can rain and yet you'll still be sunburned. Today the clouds dance too, pregnant with water. And then we'd have to run somemore, to the car, fast, see, we're all wet with sandy feet. We can only guess the light trying to get through, and we must go on with our kites, defying the rain that still won't drench us. And so, we too dance. Dance in the wind, dance on the sand. There is nothing to remember, nothing to forget. Tonight, we won't think. We'll rest in profound dreamless sleep, a happy, truly restful journey for the night.

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