Hark, what light through yonder window breaks. It is the East and the sun is the sun. Ok so it’s barely in the east at this point, but the sky is blue and still there, the sun shining like it hasn’t in at least a week. It’s not warm, mind you, but it’s also not a soft white blanket outside.
I’ll take it.
Wait, no, never mind, no longer in the east at all. So it goes on the last Monday of January. Often I say how quicky the weeks have vanished, but not this time, this month I felt each day, I think. Not sure why it was like that.
Maybe as the fog descended, I was emerging from my own.
It’s been a long time of crisis after crisis after crisis for a lot of us, endless things beyond our control. That is part of the rock and rhythm of life, at least for we mere mortals, without a single power to control all space and time.
Kind of unfair if you ask me.
Instead the universe does what it will do, and other people do what they will do, and things happen we don’t anticipate, or things happen we do anticipate, but like a slow-motion landslide, there’s nothing we can do to stop it.
Instead, we put one foot in front of the other, or we don’t; we step dodge around the newly-formed holes into the abyss, or we don’t; we watch the fog descent and feel our way through.
Or we don’t.
But now here I am on shining Monday morning, for the first time in a long time, where I can see the blue above me, where I know, for sure that I’m not believing in a world outside that isn’t really there, that isn’t only an illusion of a shape behind a wall of gray. Where time passes as time passes and not on some strange kind of skip, a record that will never play that part of the song.
Maybe time at the speed of time is the best we can hope for on a Monday morning.
Have a wonderful day.
A Bit to Read 
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