Forward

It is time to get work done, son.

Geometry pt. II

I am coming to the conclusion that Portland is about the closest to a geographical mind reboot as anything. Every time I am here I can just feel layers sliding off, or changing the way they were arranged. Time holds still, but mostly is the same behind the curtain. Things make sense in Portland despite strange weather, and stranger road systems. I'm not quite sure how to put it, but this place is healthy. Like all the moss that covers everything. I think that fits. A Mossy-ness. The sun is setting on this particular puzzle despite it is still left uncompleted. There will be time to revisit it, but for now, I will place it in its own particular box of which I have collected many and should have one that will fit perfectly. There still is much to do, and having to figure out this and other puzzles on the side is not going to help find the rhythm. Soak back into black, lean against orange, let light blue be the guide through the woods.
(Dear future Sam, Draw this for understanding)

Snow in Spring

Walks late at night in a semi warm Portland, good food, co-incidence,

This is another book that I need to reread at a later date and immerse myself in. Despite being in the West, it clearly and vividly reminded me of the Midwest and my home. What I am and what Wisconsin is, and how that carries back to me. My childhood and my identity were momentarily refreshed. Long snowed in days where in a particular drift you make a store for people to admire your different and unique icicles. where you stay out on a dark hill by the barn that is only illuminated by a far off blue of the mysterious Night Light that just comes on whenever it is dark. How that lonely light skips and reflects off of frail clumps falling from the sky. Arms outstretched, clothed in thick bundles standing triumphantly on your creation only to run back up the hill breatheless and tube down again on a track that is finally smooth enough for speed.

I remember.

I remember everything.

Just Maybe

I forget the exact time, but I remembered something I posted earlier this year, and was more aware a thing.
A shift of thinking from "How will a Sam deal with those around him and the world" to "How will those around me and the world deal with a Sam?"

(Pic to be added later)

How to Measure Time

I have finally gotten around to getting "The Little Prince" into my possession again. After reading other Dr. Seues books and eating a few grapes I was very glad to sit and remember. I'll have to go back and read "The Rainbow Scale" as I remember my guidance counselor reading it to me in kindergarten. I have also managed to get back into the habit of carrying around a camera around more often. The landscape has yet to be exactly picturable.
I think this semester I feel slippery. A few things grab me as I chance by, but by and large there is just too much oil and they don't stick, or don't find just the right hand hold. Perhaps it is my own hands that are too slick, or that I don't know what holds I can use. The thought is maybe even so maleable, so... not concrete that maybe without definition it simply lacks to be.

There is exactly enough time.

Sitting in an unkept lawn, feeling the long blades of grass, like hair wrapped along my fingers.
Softening my core.
Rays of life scream down from their lonely adventure, warming my skin.
Breathe in infinity and exhale uncertainty.
geometry and colors, rivers and trees.
A single droplet perfectly suspended in slow free fall.
No action without reaction, no movement without cause.
Radiating power. Secure. Warm. Tender. Safe.
Cloud whisping along, who are you really?