Saturday, April 12, 2025, 33* Raining
So it doesn’t mar the wooden surface, too hot to take a sip, I perch my cup upon the ceramic tile of an imagined bird a rather sad looking creature protecting my desk.
Before my brain begins to scatter, I venture into the maze of cerebral things hoping not to pass through the gates of yesterday, of today nor tomorrow, not yet. I search for places where nasturtiums negotiate nonsense, affinity alliterates, where queenly quartz quack grass is quarantined for ravenous restless raven regiments, where the ultramarine upstanding umbrella vows that all valiant velocipedes will eat vanilla waivers but only when wrinkles wrangle with wormwood. (Waivers is part of the nonsense, escaping everything literal.)
This is why my coffee grows cold perched atop that ceramic tile of an imagined rather sad looking bird. I’m sure someone thought him (or her) alluring in a silhouette of brown lines, perhaps more wistful than sad this bird, perhaps someone else found the humor in this relic from someone else’s desk. Perhaps their thoughts raced through the gates of yesterday, of today, of tomorrow; perhaps their brain began to scatter, and they could not venture through the cerebral maze to find the nonsense necessary to balance the weight of this day.
A happy heart makes the face cheerful,
but heartache crushes the spirit.
Proverbs 15:13 NIV
ART: LJ Austin
