Photo copyright Aji, 2015; all rights reserved. |
Saturday means I've outlasted this round of ghosts. For now, but now is enough.
Of course, reminders keep coming around, hammering insistently on that door in my brain that I was forced to close off long ago. It doesn't help that I never learn; I see things that I know will crack that door ajar (or blow it off its hinges), and then I go and read them anyway. Like a train wreck: Can't stand to look; can't look away.
So.
I can expect tonight's dreams to be more of the same. I wish I could force my dreams into particular channels, but that doesn't work for me. What comes is what comes, like it or not, and I usually don't. Sleep is mostly a period to be gotten through until morning.
For now, the white willow gets my conscious thoughts. A ghost tree itself, perhaps, but one that feels welcoming to me, like one of the hallmarks of home. Tomorrow, the pond beneath it will still be white with yesterday's snow, even if its own branches have reverted to gold.
By Saturday, the ghosts that have taken up residence in my mind will be shut firmly back behind the door for now, evicted from my thoughts and denied entrée to my days.
The snow will be gone — most of it, anyway. The willow will be there.
Welcoming.
And I will still be home.
All content, including photos and text, are copyright Aji, 2015; all rights reserved. Nothing herein may used or reproduced in any form without the express written permission of the owner.
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