March Winds

It’s windy in Southern California tonight.

The air pours across the sky, dips and dives between the rivets of houses, blends her way through my hair, around my collar, up my nose, into my lungs, and —

settles suddenly.

And what happens in this settling?

Absence, anticipation, longing.

Everything is magic for a moment, suspended between action and inaction, until she gradually whips up again. She carries my feet forward, pushes gently at the backs of my arms, saying go – go faster! Run!

And I do. I pick up my pace, and my feet beat against the dried leaves and concrete beneath me, and “Holocene” pours through my headphones, and I’m flying, and I’m happy, and I’m feeling so alive, and so full, and also so empty, knowing that this moment is temporary, destined to end soon, maybe even before the song ends.

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One of those days.

Today was one of those days. The whole expanse ahead of me, free for the taking, grasping, filling, experiencing, living —

and I sat, looked out the window, into the tea, ate another biscuit and twiddled my thumbs.

There are so many things to do, to create, but I forget to start any of them.

I’ve been sitting here, scrolling through a variety of sites, telling myself to close the computer, open the book, paint the canvas, knit the scarf, and yet here I am, dumbly reading about celebrity romances of the past, taking another buzzfeed quiz, telling myself just fifteen more minutes, just fifteen more minutes, just fifteen more minutes.

It’s been a whole day of fifteen minute increments and I haven’t done a single thing.

Even this post falls into the trap. What have I told you, if not the same thing over and over, altered slightly, but still dictated by commas, run on ideas, lists to better hone the sentiment?

I’m going to put on my slippers and get the mail.