flowers cut by mother- weeping cherries, the branch leaning tall and pale out of the white under-sized vase, petals drooping in pink lilac liquid silk. Seasons changed overnight, thin green jelly spring competes with the unusually cold lingering winter weather. Flowers cover the cherries at the railway crossing near Montmorency station, sprouting white among the new foliage, the trees bare& asleep only days ago.
Grey dulled day, found myself in an old house in the northern suburbs, one of those houses with skirtings where the crockery sits proud on shelves. Small room in warm incandescent light, single bed by window, walls lined with shelves filled with books, feet to ceiling, paperback and orange penguin books, a serious book lover's soul-scape. Oh how I wish to have a house like this.
Happiness comes in steady doses, for I have enough time. Time for you, time for me. Time for indecisions, time for ponderings. Time for work and (more) time for play. I buy too many green tea lattes in starbucks catching up with people. You said you're sorry. That song doesn't make me cry anymore, I guess that's good. My sky is a puzzle, a few pieces are always somehow missing, I think I'll be forever searching for them, but life's still beautiful nonetheless. You're not disarming. I hope happiness is not temporary.
Bring me sugar
And all the robins bring
Bring me many things
He brings me sugar