Light, in all its forms, I like.
More random observations, wrapped into poetry.
A bit of rambling reflective poetry today.
Dreams are peculiar things…
Some more haiku, these also have a darker tint to them, I think.
There is something that can be said about rising early.
Mind you, I have never been one who willingly drags herself out of bed in the wee hours of the morning, especially in the darker and colder winter months when the sun had barely managed to rise into the sky herself before I had to leave the warmth of my home to begin my long trek to work. Yet, in these six or so months when I have been away from work and for the most part away from any other obligation that make it necessary for me to be an early riser I have come to view those hours of the day we can still refer to as “morning” in a slightly different light.
When I was little, I saw nothing odd in the way my family worked. There was nothing odd in my mother’s mood swings and how it concerned me on a personal level when she was angry or upset. There was nothing strange about my father, who at first used to sing us songs and read us bedtime stories, but with time become more engrossed in his computer and spending most of his free time at home as a solid back in a computer chair, the clacking of computer keys filling the sun-kissed air.