A Vine Sphinx moth takes shelter beneath the light.
A sign of things hidden, keeping secrets..
Thursday, September 5, 2013
Rising Storm
It's bloody hard, being depressed. It's work. You push through each day, you slog, you muddle, you barely remember a thing, except that it was hard.
I feel like a drunk, promising to be sober tomorrow. Except it's happiness. Tomorrow, I promise, I'll be happy tomorrow. But it doesn't happen, and another tomorrow comes and goes, with no change.
Depression steals your life. It drains it away, You keep hoping for your life to start again, but you can't see how because of the fog in your head, the fatigue, the vague but unnerving certainty that something somewhere is terribly wrong.
Depression is like sodden gray clouds in the mind, broken wires, communication lines lost in the rising wind.
Storms, at least, will pass, but depression feels like an eternal forecast:
forever and ever, nothing but rain..
Shadows In the Dust
I remember reading, how a tracker can see shadows in the dust.
If one knows how to look, there is information in everything..
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