Storm stewing above dry dunes
Black billowing mega monument
Anticipation thick in the air
Scanning the sky for strikes
That’ll lead to the fulgurite
Movement frozen in the sand
– — – — – — – — – — – — – –
This arced out at me from an old journal that I was reading over.
Always fun to find these frozen experiences from my past. The joy of journaling.
Though I’ve noticed that pieces have a habit of shifting with time. Never provoking the exact emotions that laid the words. The distance between the person that I was and who I am now shifts with accumulated understanding, changing my perception. This habit of recording creates something like a dialogue with my past, and this reciprocation iterates ideas from the roots of the self. It’s nourishing.
I also find myself going back and squeezing in commentary to past journal entries. And again in the future these are bound to provoke more dialogue. Something like buried treasure for me to dig up later on when needed.
