The Lake

Ok.
So bear with me for a while.
You know when your brain just needs to think out of the box?
To stretch?
To see with new eyes?
To practice creativity?

Well that's where I am as of late.
Which makes for really weird writing, I know.
But it's just noticing the metaphors surrounding us and exploring them a bit.
I can't help it.
I'm an INFP.

So I was at the lake the other day half running, half strolling, half picture taking half just being my weird self and here's the stream of consciousness that came with it. It's like wanna-be poetry without taking the time to mess with meter and form and all that necessary stuff. And yes. There's a cuss word. FYI. It's not there to offend. It's to strengthen the metaphor. Just sayin'. Not that I need to. But whatever.

At the lake.
Death mingles with life with such fluidity
it's hard to tell where one begins and the other ends
where one story ends and the next begins
because
its all connected.
all parts of the whole
puzzle
picture
plan
interwoven and interdependent
spewing with creativity and purpose
a reflection of the seen and unseen.

it meets the pavement of second creation
where familiar feet and faces fumble,
stumble
and run to escape,
to tame,
to prove,
to conquer
to find peace with the whole
while other stories drive by filled with
pain
perplexity
passion
contained in passing sets of rubber tires.

dog shit and butterflies
hope metamorphoses on waste and rejection
prodigals puddling
knowing there is value worth seeking
and finding
even in the messiest messes
new stories finding place
space
time
new beginnings.