Why does it seem that life is so difficult?
A breath of fresh air today really is a breath of fresh air. Nature – from my tainted vantage point – has still retained its simplicity and innocence. The world of us still runs unthrottled around it, but the grass still dances in long October sunlight, the yellowjacked still plays at my feet, and the goslings still squabble and shake their tails. And over the forgiving soil pours a warmth no electric heater can reproduce.
Yet we work ourselves into a vein-popping fury at the most insignificant things; and I daresay that even the significant things should be rethought. I’ve found myslf blind with anger at traffic, pounding the steering wheel and shouting threats heard by none but myself. What level of vanity finds me cursing at inanimate objects?
Fours months holed up in a dreary living room and I finally found the strength and unction to visit the park. Here the air is clean and I can see the sky without glass obstructing the view. You’ve got to touch the air, taste the breeze, swallow the sunshine before you can really be alive. Step away from the steel and alabaster cages, pull the emerald blanket over your head and rest.
