Awoken by Ones Self Clock

Wrestling with the covers to lie as a rustled leaf that has fallen to the ground in falls atmosphere.  The outer contours of feeling begin to stiffen, core sour with warmth, and mind boggled as to why I feel everything in the appearance of thought in an untenable light.

A tactful thought creeps into my day before I step a foot out of bed. 

“We must be our own before we can be another’s.” – Emerson

I collect myself by planning out the day through a series of motions and steps.  

What shall I get from this day, give it in return, leave behind, accomplish, and fail; amongst a fortunes day?  I begin thinking of all the people I love, the thought isn’t measured it’s only the thought of their love.

The weight.

The memory of them I can tell a tail, hum a tune, and sing the love they have given me.  Positive thoughts, that have pounce on nature’s good will, and harmony from people that have etched breathes of life into me.

A Fleeting Night

Walking down the path from the dune through the sharp hair pinned grass that moves by the motions of the wind.   The light isn’t trapped here it breathes from the sky ambient orange-blues-greens, envious light that can cast silhouettes of its passengers here.

The sound found here carries the lakes ominous fleet of feeling of sand and drought.  Everything is hushed by the howling of the wind that whistles a leafless tune of shadows night.  Another city can be found across the skyline that pronouncing Lake Michigan. 

A place of destination filled with lights and troublesome wind. 

The throwing of waves, splashing its water beneath its creeping yet vast body of grinding rocks an stone that has been turned into bountiful ashes of pebbles and sand filled with timeless space.  The ground has many forms of mass it courses with a grinding ting of still but bountiful coldness. A tranquil space were ones breath can’t be heard through the cavities of the body.  The feelings of being looked upon by nature, unscathed in judgment.  Many tumultuous thoughts are carried and left here: by night.

Succulent

Jubilant mind,

Wondering soul,

Nil thought,

In spots of emotion,

Dot…dot…polka dots,

found on the backside of the bug called a lady.

gushing thoughts,

casting lines,

hooking thoughts and throwing them back.

Green ark.

Pads of green relished in a thin silver filmed lining of wax.

Few pads curl from the heat, the body of water coated in living entities of alga, green in its own rights a forest amongst the pond.  Soon sightly eyes begin to appear staring back in yellows, oranges, and browns; frogs begin to hop as bugs sing a humming tune.

A sight unforgettable, filled with natures smell, unsettled earth ting, soft pungent smell that grows a ponderous lake pong.  Soil here is unwalkable by us two but common to nature.