I'm loving the sun pouring through the window behind me, knowing that in another week, we will be plunged back into cold once more. My neighborhood doesn't lend itself well to walk alone at daybreak without a canine companion, so last night I went to my old haunts in Lakewood Park, to walk down the path to the jettys below, where the ice stretches out as far as I can see, with the glittering skyline to the east, and where the west is brilliantly pink fading into lavender and blue.
I soak in the stark scenery of bare white birch trees, the dark filigree of vines, the deep blue sky, the frozen waves. The night falls quickly, but there's enough people out enjoying the thaw that I can be alone with my thoughts and with God.
It's been a good week and I'm looking forward to a weekend of creating, adventures with good people, a whole lot of new tuneage, and enjoying a respite from the chill. Despite the craziness of this world that makes me wish sometimes I could disappear onto an island somewhere, I am thankful beyond words for these things.
And this is the most gorgeous minute and a half of guitar work ever. Even though he's a bit crazy, I love John Frusciante.
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2 comments:
*cough* machete *cough*
Frusciante's alright, but he's no drunken CC DeVille.
As you know, I dig the snow, but there is something definitely groovy about bare trees climbing out of winter-bleached grass like hungry bones.
Word verification: quarithe, which isn't a word, but should be.
yesterday near 60 birds singing undergrads frolicking today whiteout tundra 50 mile an hour winds, trying to hold onto the lifeflow surge of yesterday but already my jaw is set grim.
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