So bear with me for a while.
You know when your brain just needs to think out of the box?
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
its all connected.
all parts of the whole
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,
and run to escape,
to find peace with the whole
while other stories drive by filled with
contained in passing sets of rubber tires.
dog shit and butterflies
hope metamorphoses on waste and rejection
knowing there is value worth seeking
even in the messiest messes
new stories finding place