My stomach felt full, as if I had engulfed a cloudy day. Bleak and dismal, my mood matched the sky’s expression. As I sat on the rocks looking out, though, I realized the better I could imagine the impossible, the further I could escape from the overwhelming truth of reality. Lemon turned to pumpkin turned to strawberry, faded to black. My stomach murmured expectantly as it was a cloudy day no more.
As I peer out the window of the gondola, a blanket of hazy gray diffuses the sprinkled light. Squealing, screeching, snickering—the typical din of being in a confined area with seven other girls. I hear nothing, I say nothing, yet, I feel that I can see everything.
“Wilbur never forgot Charlotte. Although he loved her children and grandchildren dearly, none of the new spiders ever quite took her place in his heart. She was in a class by herself. It is not often that someone comes along who is a true friend and a good writer. Charlotte was both.”
― E.B. White, Charlotte’s Web
It’s just a flower kind of day…
I have found recently that I tend to be unhappy when I am inside. Not that forms of social media like Facebook, Snapchat, Instagram cannot entertain me for hours, which they can and have, by the way. When I am inside, I become engrossed in others’ social lives, dependent on awaiting a response, obsessed with likes, and that is hardly a content feeling. Recently, there have been a lot of videos and movements urging our generation to step away from electronics and into the outdoors, and I truly think they are on to something.
Maybe the life ring to pull me in from the recent waves of woe is right outside…
They say beauty is in the eye of the beholder, but why am I not that lucky viewer? I find it unbearably challenging to not measure my self-worth in pounds, likes, or compliments, but in smiles instead.
The flutter of your nimble wings matches my heart’s quivering strokes. Ephemeral describes our encounter, yet monumental defines that moment.