Some songs get you going and remind you who you are. This morning as I drove to work, this song came on and I listened especially intently to the words.
God paints the sunrise with the softest blues//And loverly, effervescent yellows//If I were a bird, it'd be my featherbed//And if I were a melody, it'd be my complement
Fin'lly stopped, I silently rest//Gears red hot from the grind//All pulled apart, cleaned, oiled, and dressed//Refurbished by design
The sway and croon of the evening's orchestration became a deafening cascade of the purest emotion, as can be expected from any young boy who has not yet learned to know any better or any worse. Innocence crystalline as a sunset on the sea's horizon glistened and glanced off of the greenhouse's glass walls, and... Continue Reading →
A thousand lives pass by thirty-thousand and six feet below and yet I think it's me wasting away because for every mile passed, I'm less than a minute older and yet a lifetime closer to the places imagination takes us. In this moment of muted melody I come by scraps of peace and,... Continue Reading →
Most children enjoy being tended to by their mothers when they are under the weather, but Little Miss Hobbs needed only the weather to tend to her, and mayhaps a bottle of bubbles to blow indoors without a mother to scold her about the scum it'd surely leave on the windows and floor.
...and we move on in intense lethargy hoping that, somewhere along the way, we will catch our breath we put our nose to the grind stone day after day believing in the myth that we'll understand in the by and by what it was all for in the first place ...but are we adding... Continue Reading →