I feel alone but sometimes I am okay with my aloneness.
I am on a tightrope where the only place to move is forward.
I want to go back but that means giving up what I have now.
Oh,
there
is
always
a
safe
place
to
fall.
The universe is
holding
you.
Everything I do feels like I’m paddling a tiny boat through thick fog.
When people talk to me I want to respond but I actually have nothing in my brain.
Nothing at all.
I’ve never seen an Eastern Bluebird in real life but they make me feel something.
They remind me of the colour palettes that I wish I could live in.
If life were really in that old technicolor, and I ruled the world, there would be a lot of bluebirds.
Bluebirds also remind me of Alice in Wonderland (1951) when Alice lies down in a field of daisies.
Then I remember that I love daisies, and rich green grass.
The daisies and green grass remind me off the linoleum flooring my Great-Grandma Birdie had in one of her guest bedrooms. It was a vibrant green with little white fences and barns.
I slept in that room when we stayed at her house.
To my little self I thought that the blanket on the bed was the most beautiful blanket I’d ever seen.
It was all pink. The happiest, cotton candy pink.
When the light came streaming through the bedroom window in the morning I could have woken up in heaven and not noticed.
I reckon bluebirds, colours, daisy chains, sweet Grandmas, and pretty mornings make me happy because they slow me down a bit.
Slow.
Bright.
Quiet.
Happy.
So happy.
.
.
.
And then I think of little Eastern Bluebirds.
The Culture of Being 