The icicle that hung from the south western corner of the roof was slowly melting. The repetitious drip, drip, drip, tapped away upon the upturned wheelbarrow. Birds were gathering in the row of scrub pine making all the sounds of spring. Temperatures were closing in on sixty five degrees.
Spring, Summer, Fall, Winter...and Spring again.
The movement of the gathering birds reflect the flurry of activity that occupies my mind. And as I attach myself to these thoughts I am ever sinking lower and lower into despair.
Its quite simple. Yet I turn away. Having experienced the freedom of watching thoughts arise and pass away, just as the seasons rise from vernal equinox to autumnal equinox and back again, my despair acts as a pair of heavy boots making progress in any direction cumbersome.
I am depressed. A concoction made with one portion of situational depression, a shot (or two) of genetic depression, a splash of hormonal depression (compliments of diabetes) makes for one dull boy.
Applying the salve of compassion is helpful but the jar is dry. Self loathing begins to raise it's ugly head. You begin to believe that the little foxes will spoil the vine.
"It is a good rule in life never to apologize. The right sort of person doesn't want apologies and the wrong sort take a mean advantage of them."
So be it!