Tossed and Tumbled

Durer's Melancholia I

What a mercurial creature I am! Earlier today my mind was like an open window, or perhaps the shutter beside the window, content to let the play of light and shadow dapple, shine, recede, anything. A bit distanced and aloof, but happy happy happy.

And now so tightened, all scrambled up, all twisted.

I was earlier thinking of the crunch of gravel on my old driveway--the telltale sign of a visitor. And then of the memory that floods me when I wake up with cold shoulders and/or toes. Of the cold look of the stone outside of my window.

I was rolling about in my mind V. Woolf's descriptions of their tour through Greece and the Balkan countries and savoring the finely crafted phrases, so full of emotion, so free of cliche.

I was loving the jauntiness of my new frock, the little bow at the back, the drop waist, the purply-grey boucle.

The stolen macaroon and its pistachio yumminess and easy reference to a storybook life.

No more. Now I am a tight rubber ball, no comfort, no contentment. I need a ray of sunshine, a gust of wind, the rustle of leaves.

I do not need this.