Scribble #18

Squish squish squish, I step through the wet field, the grass shining and refreshed in the peeking, colourless sun. It is like a swamp around here, only the air is clearer. My trainers may be caked in mud, but at least I'm not sinking to my waist, stuck and in danger of drowning in muck.

Trickling streams. Rushing on and on, taking leaves and twigs and branches and pines down its assorted path. I didn't know there is a huge stream in my town, and possibly a river moat up ahead. There is a lot I don't know, or remember since childhood. I used to climb the trees; the bark as green and mossy as a pond.

Exploring. Unlocking the past. Outside is as foggy and cold as my childhood memories. The freshness of being bullied and undermined at school - where I always tried to internally escape from, and a few times even tried to run away from externally - it is all there before me now, longing to be forgotten, buried. I was a pathetic prisoner. The dam breaks, and the tears rush to the surface, blocking up my throat and wavering in my eyes. These types of memories are as colourless and plainly truthful as my tears. Is that why I am suddenly melancholy? Unable to lift my face up to the breaking sky, not wanting to. But it seems the sun is trying to show its face to me through the pale clouds. It never gives up. Indeed if it did the world would be pitched in blackness and total oblivion, with no hope to cling to at all. How hard it must be to keep going - it's admirable. Rain is sprinkled on the grass at my muddy and soaked feet. I may not feel or look alright, but the earth will keep on rotating, day after day, for a millennia more. I guess that's another theory of balance - between the physical and soul-psychic worlds.

Silence. But for the birds talking to one another. What do they talk about? I wish I could join in their conversation. Even streams are never lonely. Everywhere is just so vast and empty of people at this time of year, and I know for a fact that humans don't normally hibernate. Of course not. They normally have jobs. Presumably, and preferably.