I once wrote something similar, but this is another year and done in a different frame of mind more or less. Perhaps a bit more clear about a few things too. So here we go.
The view out there reflects my mood. Soft green colors, gray distant forestry mountains with a drizzle of mist dancing above the tops. And here, amongst bushy storm-ridden purple lavender and leafy tree branches I entertain the idea of taking my bags and leave a job I daresay drives me into near comatose mind boggling boredom and despair.
It is cool and inviting out there, a breeze that carries feathery insects to and fro-and the world out there seems so distant to the place I find myself to be.
But these beautiful images and thoughts also makes me hotly uncomfortable now, as I am in an office atmosphere clinically loaded with the hum of machines and harsh flicker of fluorescent lights. If anything in me feels alive or joy here, it comes from a place deep inside me.
I'm secretly making Wishing and Wistful lists.
This season with its many sharp ups and downs, has the ability to touch people more than usual. Whether it causes family feuds or makes one miss people whom one never met before. Perhaps I fall in this category, trying to steer well clear of rowdy whipping sparks and arguments and allowing my mind to stray to far-away peaceful places instead.
I think of people who I will miss this season. Those who passes me by within inches and oceans, and still we won’t speak nor touch. Eyes might lock for an eternity of seconds, but roam further a field again. Then of course there the lives that will never be near me, not cross anywhere near my footpaths and I wonder about those...
And my mind wanders in these quiet moments, amongst faxes and telephones back to the real times which seemed to have been so short-lived but loved. Spent amongst Christmas trees and holly-berries from a real lichen-ancient-walls-heather-clad forest. Dark green pine needle trees growing in these mountainous woods with some lost in the flat dark eerie moors full with its little streams and wild herbs.
A Wistful Moment that lingers on...
To the lakes surrounded by Hawthorns and May trees, landscapes beautifully crafted with wild growing and the sweetest raspberries. I loved cycling to the Point which overlooks the islands Jura, Scarba, Mull and the magical smaller ones... and often the freshly mixed scent of bog and sheets of rain heading this way caught me suddenly and unawares.
All of which was utterly enchanting...
I find myself having a picnic on a rock, hand stroking some old washed up bark which is roughly mapped with layers of time etched deep into its core. I think it might have given shade or place for a nesting bird before – who knows? A tree that maybe even have been embraced in the lush leafy arms by the bottom of its feet by pink bell heather, bluebells or the foxy freckled white lady named Foxglove.
I used to get the drift of wood smoke – and would wonder “Wherefrom?”
It awakens a vivid image in my searching mind and with it comes a deeper longing for something nameless that circles on the edges that are just out of reach.
Here and now, I don’t think these dreams are appropriate...
All so very wistful - are they dreams or could they be real?
I dare not breathe too deeply and know a moment like this might never come my way again, on this day, and I just had to tell you all of this.