Look through my eyes up
At blue with not anything
We could have ever arranged
Slowly taking place.
- From Enter A Cloud by W. S. Graham
Sort of like that but with a bit more grey than blue when I look languidly out my window. Early Saturday morning, when it sits down to breath slowly like this, is a moment looking forward, inward, and backward. The pent up energy (stored, potential energy) is still there, wound up and ready to spring out into a spate of productivity. The moment, though is quiet and in the moment the mind moves more than muscle (entropy?). And the quiet begets the past (if that's not a linear oxymoron). The possibilities are bidirectional, if not endless.
The intriguing comfort of an imagined past
is entered through objects
the same way we continue the present
but without nostalgia
Parents so long for happiness they say
one life is not enough
and live through their children
But children also live backwards through past candles
crank telephones carriages
the ascendant animals that lived not in imagination
but in Kansas and before
there was an Oklahoma with its spotted sun
- Allan Peterson, from The Appeal of Antiques
Mostly, though, we move forward; the potential energy cannot be long surpressed. The mate eventually becomes lavado, the caffeine kicks in, and the buzzing energy of potential and to-do returns.
No commute on a Saturday morning, so no commute soundtrack.
- Posted via Hermes
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