For some reason I feel blue this morning. I feel like a piece of charcoal that could crumble away and leave only remnants of ash. I’m hesitant to talk about my mood, but I have to acknowledge all of my moods, the positive and the negative.
Today: Seven and thirteen, two of my favorite numbers, and yet it’s a blue day. How can that be so? Is it the overcast sky that I’m greeted with this morning when it’s supposed to be summertime— and what I expect of summer mornings?
I usually go with the flow, but today, I feel myself pushing against it. I feel like a moody child this morning. I know it will pass, but in this present moment this is how I feel.
I feel a river inside of me, bubbling, wet—pain, sadness, slight emptiness. Life. That’s how it goes—from one exciting moment to another that foams out into a cascade of rain on this blue summer day.
Even the sparrows aren’t singing this morning.
I hear one. Thank you, dear sparrow…