It's all about the weather

What a year for weather, and seasons. This is the year that seasons were made for. Summer was hot and humid. Fall was cool and damp and refreshing. Winter was cold, snowy, and long. And now, spring is springing, and April is about to usher in plenty of showers (as it should).

One more

One more storm before we break
To the sunny skies of springtime
One more spray of snow
Before we bid that winter go,
Before we say our terse goodbyes

Another round of cold before we greedily soak up the sun
So take a gasp and hold it in
We'll wait (impatiently) for spring to lift it's timid head again
To spread its fingers over all the flowers
Over limbs and branches unfurling into leaves, please

You bitter winds! Stop blowing down so fiercely.
You haven't got much left in you, do you?
So go on, get out. We don't want your icy breath about here anymore.

Purple

This purple noise... swirling about my nose, I can't help breathing it in. It tastes smoky and dark and delicious - like wine from a particular wineglass. Carpets that smell like church and basements - a lingering mold that flavors this stew of music and booze and bodies, oh-so-particularly. The faithful and the foreign linger here, in their respective bubbles, treasuring their own respective baubles from a night well spent, or misspent. But the bass strings play on, and on, and on... moving this purple air in pulses towards my ears, my heart, my head.

Yellow

It feels yellow in this room
A strong but sickly glow
That almost gives off the perfume
Of the gray of coming days
With shrunken sunlight's feeble rays
Casting a bluer shadow.
An old man, struggling along
With cane in hand
Whose mission was to run along
The broken land
With light and love and health;
So much for summer's wealth.
We're falling apart too soon
With breaking hips, and lips, and hearts.
It feels yellow in this room.

The foreseeable future

This is something I wrote early last April - I remember it clearly, humming this sunny sort of thing while sitting outside the UM Music Building on a Saturday morning, waiting to meet a friend while noshing on a croissant and coffee from Le Petit. I was thinking about moving, and change, and kind of appreciating life in general.

It's a silly thing (I titled this post "it's only cutesy" when I first wrote it), but I haven't been able to stop humming it since we moved into our new studio apartment. It was a pretty accurate estimate of what we ended up with in New York, and it's dug out a special little place in my heart.

Someday we'll have a patio that all those foreign villas will be jealous of
Lighthearted brunches and romantic dinners will grace its lovely deck
The furniture will reminisce of times long gone which we still hold a fragment of
And nothing will compare with all the ambience it has when table's set


But for now, we're in a itsy bitsy place
With a stove that almost works
And a sink that has its quirks
But for now, we'll be content with lack of space
'Cause we know that we're together
And when someday comes we'll both still have each other


Someday our living room will have a view that no one could've ever dreamed up
The windows, bay, of course, will frame the picture-perfect scene with grace and style
The mountains and the streams that we will see most every day will keep our spirits up
And I believe that we will be contented with it for a little while


But for now, we'll have to do with alley views
And the neighbors' ugly cars
And the lack of nighttime stars
But for now, we're quite content with what we do
'Cause we know that we're together
And when someday comes we'll both still have each other

daring to smile (sometimes)

I'm here and you're here
Let's have a fling, dear
Well start a new thing, dear,
And giggle for years

My hand and your hand
Are waving like mad, dear
so let's take a stand, dear
and let go of our fears

Perhaps some sad tears, dear, will follow
they do, don't you know, in our sorrow

But smiles like cracks
like rays, to relax
the harsh sadness of life
let's throw off the strife
and giggle our sternness away

I'm here and you're here
Let's try and sing, dear
We'll start a new thing, dear,
and patch these cracked notes

My hand and your hand
Are now here to stay, dear
Let's start a new day, dear
and cover our eyes

Will wish just as hard, dear, as ever we could
And dare to believe what we probably should

The smiles, through cracks
Become rays to relax
The harsh sadness of life
Let's throw off these stripes
and giggle our worries away

Futile

Rhyming and not quite rhyming. I call it stylistic. Or something.

It creeps ever closer

And so. We are moving towards New York... in that jobs are being sought, visits are being made, plans are just (just) starting to become mapped out in our minds. And it's so loose and looming that everything seems intimidating. Even thinking about it is intimidating. But the summer is approaching. Soon, I won't have the excuse of school to hide behind. Soon, I'll have to apply to every job I can, treating each application as if it could be the diamond in the dunghill of resumes these people have to sift through. It's exhausting to work up that much fake-excitement about being an administrative assistant. Even if I am applying for a job at Carnegie Hall.

Conveniently, I have some wonderful references. Thankfully, I have a supportive family and husband. Sadly, I'm starting to realize that leaving Missoula means leaving Missoula. And all the people I know and love. I actually made friends here at some point along the way...

I've been trying to remind myself (when I forget) that I should enjoy every moment for what it is. The rain. The time with friends. Times I get to be by myself. Times I get to walk outside. Taking in those moments is a big part of being content, I think. But it is hard to avoid the feelings of impending sadness. They say, "you're leaving soon! Look at how much you'll miss!" and then I wallow. (Isn't that a great word? wallow. Like slopping through big puddles of mud. In rain boots. Kind of fun, if you think about it.)

But why, oh why, wouldn't I instead spend my time enjoying the next few weeks, months, whatever we have, in the space I'm in right now? Why can't those thoughts be a motivating factor, reminding me to really enjoy the moment? Let's mark a turning point here. Time for enjoyment, not wallowing. Even if it is a fun word.

feels like high school

Around 'bout the sun my mind wanders
Tendrilling thoughts
drilling 'mongst the forgotten light's fingers

Haven't you heard of the way that light peers around corners
It's really quite awful,
it fills quite a lot of
the space that it doesn't intend to

(I see you.)

maybe it's remembering

I'm feeling the need to be active. To get out. To do something. Something like yoga by the river (not sure exactly how that would work out... where do you lay your mat?). Something like hiking the M. Something like climbing a tree. The birds are up there. I like trees too. Why shouldn't I join them?

I have the urge to run and fall and scrape my hands on the sidewalk. I want bruises and cuts and scabs from playing outside and maybe getting into that space behind the shed that's a little too gross and dirty and dangerous. I want the wind knocked out of my belly because I accidentally let go of the branch I was swinging on and fell to the ground stomach-first. Perhaps I just want to be 6. This is a possibility.

I want to unleash my energy on the world around me until I'm spent. And then I will go back to being responsible and rational and reserved. But I want some moments where I can be a chicken with my head cut off. Please?

Also, I wish I could have a spring break, too. Harrumph.

ode to coffee

Oh coffee, you silky brown goddess of the morning. How I love your gently insistent aroma when I pour water over your grounds, and the taste of you as you slip over my tongue. You wake my senses to the morning world around me. As the sun's rays creep over the mountains, you creep through my body, warming, illuminating, gently whispering that it is indeed a new day.

Oh, coffee. You remind me that simple pleasures are the best.

warming

February sun, your vibrant rays

Your gently rising arc

Entice my fleece-bound layers 'part.