Greenstorm's Journal

I've always been one for metaphor, so after he says "you haven't been happy" he says further "tend your own garden or the winter will go hard with you. It's coming, you know." It leaves me wondering about the funny shapes our hearts come in, slewing sideways in the haphazard harness of hidden motivations on the road to some -- goal? It is true that I never think about the ends and true too that I've been neglecting the means. There's not too much you can say to that and so the wind blew the leaves around like rain and often there was silence except for the breathing and shifting.

I could throw all the metaphors in the world at that touch and never describe the essence of it. Cut through the bullshit, cut past expectation, cut past kindness and once you're there in the center it takes a deft knife indeed to make the proper slices and then retreat, no harm done. It was almost professional; not a nick in the wrong place for all the blade was driven so deep.

they are all surgeons, all of them the voice said, and for all I know it might be right.

Sewn back up and slept up, I'm making oatmeal for breakfast and the leaves are blowing past outside in a fierce wind. "Out with the old," the wind says, "where you're going there's no room for it."