It's grey and rainy today; typical West (Wet?) Coast weather. The ravens are flying outside the third floor window of the apartment where I am staying, carefully pulling twigs off the blossoming trees. The wind is warm, and I am wrapped in a fleece blanket, dreaming, dreaming...
what dreams are made of
We do not grow absolutely, chronologically. We grow sometimes in one dimension, and not in another; unevenly. We grow partially. We are relative. We are mature in one realm, childish in another. The past, present, and future mingle and pull us backward, forward, or fix us in the present. We are made up of layers, cells, constellations. -Anais Nin
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home