Scribbles from a little blue notebook…

Lonely field in cyan
Lonely Field in Cyan- Credit: SBI

Songbirds sing a song tinged with sweet hope bidding a farewell to the dark of yesterday’s night. The sun has not yet risen but they know it will, as do I. The clouds are strewn in patches across the sky. The sky is dark blue interlaced with an even deeper indigo that outline the tall buildings which are spotted with light. It seems every third window is lit with a warm and welcoming light. Each one reminds me there is a devoted soul inside who is engaged in some early morning business. I hope they will stop if only for a moment to watch the sun rise…and rise it will, just as it always does. There is a certain comfort in that. A certain knowingness that no matter how life changes there will always be some things we can depend on.

Credit: SBI
Credit: SBI

I hear the train in the distance just as I always do. It’s arrival is marked with a melancholic anticipation. The bike riders show up at the last-minute, their blinking helmet lights announcing their arrival. It is always this way. I sip the last of my hot tea and steady myself before we board the train. It is already half filled with early morning commuters.  We are all silent. There are no smiles, no revelry. Some stare out the windows, some read paperbacks and a few others steadily tap away on laptops. Many start to drift off and some are asleep as we make our way into the long dark tunnel that starts my morning journey.

I take out my little blue notebook and start to scribble, recording my thoughts and dreams and hopes and schemes.  I stretch my mind and explore my imagination searching for something profound or funny, but today I find nothing. …just the remnant of a song I heard earlier and the lingering doubts I sometimes feel about myself. Writing eases the lonely hours, this act keeps me from feeling so alone. It will be this very thing that will save me…someday…this I must believe.

Credit: SBI
Credit: SBI

The sun rises as we make our way from station to station. Yes It did come, this glorious sun! This sun we knew would come. I think of the songbirds back at the station I left far behind and I think of what awaits me at my stop where I will get off.  I smile a little private smile knowing that someday this will be all worthwhile as long as I can just take it day by day…

Reporting from the “wilds” of Beaverton,

Strawberryindigo.

Credit: SBI
Credit: SBI

NOBODY HOME by Pink Floyd

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