I'd like to--

There are too many souls out there that I will never meet.

I don't fret over the ones I will probably never see again.

Instead of e x  p   a    n     d      i       n        g, I condense.

I rid myself of

clothes

- - - -pictures

- - - - - '-souvenirs

       but never books.
And I miss my love.

I wake up in the middle of the night to write down the last details of a dream and when I read it the next morning, it says, "The acts have not yet come down from where the dogs have placed them."

My wrist is in some serious pain and I wonder if it's because I push myself off my bed--off the floor--so often now.

I sleep in now and it's uncomfortable and time consuming, but I'm just. so. exhaus...

_________--_-_______________'.'.?

I wonder if and when happiness and simplicity became overrated.

What a waste.

-rae

Like Crows

I love the future.
I love technology.
I love that I can see my best friend's face who is in another continent.
I love that I can call my mom for help when I'm lost in the mall.
I love that I can find out what movie I heard that song from.
I love Google and Wikipedia and Twitter and IMDB.
          Except for the blasted Kindles that essentially killed my beloved bookstore, I just love it all.
But please, let the kids always have a lemonade stand.

-rae

The Sage's Query

Last summer, there was--as much as online bird guides have been able to tell me--a sparrow. I don't know the exact time it would start chirping, but I remember lying in bed and waiting for it. I could pick it out of it's several other buddies because it sang the same song every morning.

I'll admit--hearing the same tweet approximately 420 times per hour started out as tedious, but I eventually paid close attention to the pattern.

There's something special about this bird I recall musing.

It was only a week or two before it quit it's perch when winter neared that I was able to put a name to the pattern. The bird would chirp frantically for five seconds, then sing the same three notes, then the intonation of a last fourth note would rise significantly. Immediately after, it would lower it's pitch and slow down, asking the same four note question.

I'm home again, but only for the weekend. Instead of that old bird waking me up every morning, it's awkward distant cousin shrieks, "Soot soot--TRILLLLLLL!" at me instead about three hours into the morning when I'm already awake.

Though the old bird's incessant pondering made it nearly impossible to go back to sleep, there was something to be said about it's diligence; it would ask the same question every morning, over and over again, until it decided it was time to accomplish whatever important tasks birds have to do all day.

The question could have been one of those difficult one's that no one can really answer. It could have been a fairly simple question, just being asked in the wrong direction.

There are endless possibilities to the meaning of the last four notes--ranted in a frenzy the first time, but then solemnly reiterated soon after...

It scares me to think that the bird might have given up. After waiting too long for an answer, it moved on to a completely different life. It could be asking the same question somewhere else, hoping the right person will finally hear, but I really wish it would come back and continue it's questioning where I can hear it.

It could help me start asking again too.