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butterflydreamingI'm useless today. I haven't done a blasted thing. So, I'm going to try posting something lovely and lyrical under this LJ cut. Will it work?
The sky was blue earlier, during my brief foray outdoors, but while I've been lost in daydreams, the wind has picked up, bringing in clouds and grey. My cat sits in her window, unperturbed by the shaking trees beyond the glass.
The wind has been blowing in my daydreams. I hear the sound of moving gusts, and to me they sound like the thrashing of wild grasses in an open field, where the sun shines golden on golden blossoms, and small birds dart upward as if they have just exploded into being. The cold of the wind rolls in from the small, crowded balcony of my apartment, flipping up the curtains. They are white and sheer, perfect for summer; they look like veils of fog in the dimmed light.
My living room is as dim as an ancient bookstore. The clutter of my own books implies the fancy further, and if I let my lashes drift close I can super-impose gilded leather and dark cloth in place of the brightly inked covers, and pretend that the spiral bindings of my notebook are stitches in linen.
I should light some candles in my fireplace. If I light incense, the windchimes from my neighbors' eaves may sound like temple bells.
The sky was blue earlier, during my brief foray outdoors, but while I've been lost in daydreams, the wind has picked up, bringing in clouds and grey. My cat sits in her window, unperturbed by the shaking trees beyond the glass.
The wind has been blowing in my daydreams. I hear the sound of moving gusts, and to me they sound like the thrashing of wild grasses in an open field, where the sun shines golden on golden blossoms, and small birds dart upward as if they have just exploded into being. The cold of the wind rolls in from the small, crowded balcony of my apartment, flipping up the curtains. They are white and sheer, perfect for summer; they look like veils of fog in the dimmed light.
My living room is as dim as an ancient bookstore. The clutter of my own books implies the fancy further, and if I let my lashes drift close I can super-impose gilded leather and dark cloth in place of the brightly inked covers, and pretend that the spiral bindings of my notebook are stitches in linen.
I should light some candles in my fireplace. If I light incense, the windchimes from my neighbors' eaves may sound like temple bells.
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no subject
Date: 2004-09-14 04:15 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-09-14 04:42 pm (UTC)If this is what happens when you're useless, you should be useless more often.
no subject
Date: 2004-09-14 06:01 pm (UTC)Second the thought on the fruits of your usefulness. It makes me want to curl up in your living room and listen to the wind outside.
no subject
Date: 2004-09-15 10:34 am (UTC)