Yet More Vacation Scribblings

img_5585Righteous feet walk the right path even in their darkest moments. I, being of sound garden and noisy thought, need a light shone just a yard or two ahead. Halogenesis is all I ask that I may go halogentle through the night; inventing words, constructing worlds, avoiding wars, collecting wisdom.

There may be too much sugar in my blood. The clarity of mind I prayed was mine as I sat down to write myself some letters is muddy as a roadside puddle. In childhood, wearing shorts to just above my knees and Wellington boots to just below the knees, that puddle would be the greatest lake of all. I’d be jumping in and out of it like a spaniel leaping about in long grass for a lost ball.

The adult brain is a buzzkill: “But my shoes are only canvas, they’d get ruined if I jumped in that grubby little splot of water. My socks will be soaked. My trousers are fresh out of the tumble dryer…”

Ah shut up, whining, butt-scared of having fun, stupid grown-up sized brain. Where’s your sense of adventure? Where’s the spark of creation and wonder that once allowed me to build cardboard airships to fly me to planets no scientist has ever seen on their hubba bubba telescope?

Scattered notions blow from storm set oceans just to whip me up like butter cream I don’t spread on my toast. I am happy inside sadness, sad within my joy. I want this now to be forever. I want, they say, does not get. I wish I may, I wish I might, first star of Bethlehem I saw tonight.

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