Smoke from a Distant Fire, Part 2: Weather Report, Sept. 15
The lines to the poem will go something like:
The haze hangs like a mood:
A thin veil of disheartenment.
A drop of amber resin suspended mid descent.
Soon field and valley will reflect the muslin sheen…
Or something like that.
The picture does not adequately express the sunset. The red/orange sun sifting through the western smoke. There is a mood that hangs in the air. Disheartenment. Discouragement. Disillusionment. It is as palpable as the acrid taste of the smoke.
What makes a mood a mood? Is it an emotion? Is it a fleeting, temporary feeling? Can a mood take hold and refuse to let go or can a mood rise and fall like the sun with changing shades and hues with each changing moment?
That’s it. Moods are fleet footed. They shift and shuffle to their own rhythm…and we are helplessly tied to our moods and the moods of those around us.
Be patient today. There is a mood. We hang precarious, teetering between misery and hope. We ALL hang precarious. We ALL teeter between misery and hope.
I love you.
I need you.
I hope for you.
Please be safe.