Sunshine in the Sprinklers

Today Spring woke up again, maybe Summer; they look alike but when you look in their eyes you can see the difference. (Towards the pupil, where the iris either changes yellow or stays green, that's how.) The morning came back around, but I missed it. The sun still kissed me on the cheek when I woke up, and I thought about it, felt it's warmth, and the coldness of the shadows in my room, underneath the blankets. Just cooler. It's unnatural. I'm stuck, locked away behind too many walls, and we all are, and we know it. The worst part is that most of us are completely content with that, though, isn't it? So, today was for walking back out into the woods and getting away from the mosquitoes and taking a nap underneath the sun and the green shade. I heard it far off; it should have come months ago but I suppose everything was running behind anyway.

We've been crossing the breeze, but we haven't gotten to know it. And what's crossing anything without diving into and knowing what you're missing, understanding the feeling that you're skipping over so that you know for sure whether or not you want to skip it? I was tired of staying on the roads and just zooming by, and why should I be excited about it? I wanted to lose myself in the woods completely, somewhere where the sun shines down between the trees and where puddles form when the rain comes down, like sprinklers from the skies. God always had a way with making things more grand than a snakes head in the earth shooting out water. I'd sit there and watch the entire day pass before me, do nothing, think nothing, eat and drink nothing, just so that I could understand how slow or fast time went. I'd know for at least a year, completely comprehend the passage of time and how I flow through it like salmon through the river. I'd go with the flow and against the flow depending on my mood.

But don't we all?

The sun came bitterly over the sky, the ground was heating up, sand dunes falling into salty water, dark but with bright, white, foamy crests like mountain peaks in the north; I'd miss it all in the future when all I'd have is the sky to tell me where the water is. Then I'd have to try harder to center myself an touch the spirit of the earth. I'd be further away, covered up by all this flesh and spirit clashing together. I felt like leaving; the door slammed on my way out and the heat crashed into my face-warm and thick like hot, humid jelly. Lately there have been cats in the woods, they look like the trees even though they're orange with dots all over them. I knew why, but it was still strange and perplexing- you can't much get rid of that feeling. I sighed.

Lately there had just been nothing around but the way the sky looks and the air around me, telling me about the absurdity of my soul. Was I suppose to have peaks of passion and such complete losses of inspiration and thought? Maybe my life was just as boring and plain as water; nice, but very typical for out planet. And then I needed the right conditions, when the light was coming down just so through the rain from the sprinklers as to make a rainbow. That's what I needed, and maybe that's why I was scrambling so much about the world around me.

It defined me just as much as I defined it.