I am breathing normally.
The night wind smells beautifully of rain and darkness.
Somewhere there is an owl sitting pretty on a dripping branch.
My dogs are asleep.
My mother is almost asleep.
My father is not yet gone to bed.
My boyfriend and I are not talking.
The movie I thought I would watch, and now I think is not worth watching, is, well, probably really not that important.
This post will turn out to be better than what I thought.
I repeat, this post will turn out to be much better than I thought I was capable of writing in a murderous mood.
That is because I have decided that I will think of beautiful things –
And not about not being able to watch a movie, or write a silly post.
Because, as you must have guessed, it’s a fine weather outside.
I’d rather dream of a dreamy drizzly holiday in the foothills; and a red umbrella.
Or the woody smell of a crackling fire in the chill of winter.
Flashes of a forgotten mango tree darts by –
The softness of the Sal leaves under my insistent steps disconcerts
Gold and purple sunsets –
Soapy smell of eucalyptus resin –
Sooty walls of a crumbling defence –
Feathered edges of truth –
Repose for the eye –
How I would love a cup of strong black coffee with my bittersweet selves and a round of riotous swearing!