more ramblings

Silence.

More or less.

As I floated higher into the grey sky, I started to think ...Do the elements communicate with eathother? Can the sun tell the clouds where to go? Does the sky warn the earth when it's about to reak its tumultuous havoc?
Deep and dark in the thickest, mossiest woods, animals must communicate in their furry little animalistic way; I'll even bet that plants communicate with eachother and all it's photosynthesis and such--are we SO arrogant to think that unless we "hear" it, it's not being said? I think we are.

...I think we are..

Did you know that stars-although none are visable on this overcast afternoon-are mostly dead? ...Right? The light we see comes to us over the period of centuries and finally, one night, that beam meets its final destination with your eyes. Other worlds (I'm sure) in other galaxies will have the pleasure thereafter. But the star, however, the "living source" doesn't exist anymore. Yet, it's light, shines ...as if, still alive.

oh, To be a star.

Secret Garden-esque

"perfect" because in being so exposed, it was one of the most private places in the City.

I frequented the parkette on occasion, when I was in the neighborhood--or had the time to make sure I was. Today, however, it was all part of a meticulous plan. There. A bench. Sit and roll a joint. I'll need it. Take time to really pull it all in right now.
I think I love this little parkette because it's so simple. It's really more of a pretty patch of maintained land from one street to another, cutting off the corner that would have been nothing more than a dreary walk through people, smog and cold concrete. The "parkette" is always a welcomed alternative.
In the summer the old weeping willows, lush with small green leaves, reaching towards the earth, would line the path through the park. Softly rustling fading out the horns and bratty adults allowing the birds to sing.

my secret garden

a small parkette nestled away amidst grey lowrises and nearby brownstones.

Ramblings of a Mad mad

it was a rather warm autumn day and I had just finished lunch. it was a lite lunch, around 430p. "lunch" (used loosely) was a just a peach. literally, I wasn't that hungry.
how could I eat, it was the day everything was going to change. well, for me, at least, and everyone around me. the sun still felt warm though, especially for late fall. I should be wearing a sweater right now, but instead, a sheer cardigan.
Everything felt slow. suspended. like being in the eye of a storm. Something was going to hit, perhaps? I don't know, it still felt like a normal fall day, everything dying, trees shedding their leaves, grass turning lifeless yellow and flowers wilting into dust--yet, the sky was blue. simply. It was nice. gave me the punch I needed.
the sidewalk passed away like a noisy treadmill: sirens, tourists, cars and dogs, all flying by in blurs. better that way. Afterall, I don't carem about them. is that callous to say? I can guarentee they dont care THAT much I either. Eitherway, I still don't care. I wish I ahdn;t walked it's way to far, my feet were startung to hurt. I hate the TTC though--really, who likes it? who wakes up and says, "oh goody! I get to wait out in the morning frost for late transportation operated my an equally and sometimes unjustifiabely more surely fat man. sigh. ok, I think it's just around the corner...