Babel

It was much too early to wake up, all headache and solitude and empty words. Rain smattered outside the window: cold, raw air reaching through the walls and into the bed. I fell asleep again, eventually, but the dreams were all confused and malicious, and the headache remained until late.

The rain brings spring, it does. It brings hatchling buds and smell of earth. Weary Saturday afternooners wring their hands and curse the cold, but don't they know? The rain brings spring, it does.

Open doors can easily be closed again. Empty bags be quickly packed. Bare feet and green grass may save your life, but you will always stand alone in the end so you better learn to enjoy the company. There must be more to life than this, I thought, but it is tempting to doubt.

I never intended to be all talk
and no action.
I never intended to be all talk
and no Life.

There was such space on the screen, blue skies and highways into eternity. Desert sand and wind in the junipers. My heart raced. I pull out my bag from the depths of the closet.

Prepare departure.