Pale light drips down the curtain and stirs the stale air slouching against the baseboards. A draft from the hallway drags the odor of old paint across the floor. Dust rises above threadbare cushions where empty hours pass. A window must be open somewhere. Faded injury meets fresh insult. Hope, long hidden behind closed doors, sags under the weight of another day that has only just begun.
What if you spent every day looking for One Beautiful Thing?
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We are all just babes in the woods.
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Weary words indeed, and for such a lovely picture!
It is odd to think of someone waking up in the dark center of that building not knowing or perhaps not even caring that a beautiful day was waiting to be explored just beyond those walls. The heat has been oppressive. It seemed fitting that the words should be weary. Thanks for your comment.
Gotta love that near horizontal light. It casts great shadows.
Poetic. Oh the heaviness that lies ahead…
If only someone could lighten the load even a little bit.
Love the imagery, Honie.
Thanks, Helen.
Beautiful words. They bring about such a feeling of weariness, and the passage of time.
It is the season of weariness, Mr. Petruska.
You have my attention…
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I think Millie Hollingsworth may reemerge before the summer is over. LOTS of creativity is bubbling up as I continue to process the events of these past few months. Thanks, Allan.