1-5-93

1st day back & I feel like crap.  I have many missions today, one of which, no, many of which are getting this pen going full bore.  The big project lies dusty and untouched.  The other big one also looms low.  It'd be a great time to dilly-dally, but I must be tough on myself.  But when the medicine kicks in, who knows what will follow.

                Standing upon a sunset shore,

                alone, but for the memories,

                those of things untouchable though touched,

                and those touchable yet not in true form.

                They are tuned with the waves

                each crashing into history with every minute,

                another following.

                There is a problem,

                for those behind are not of the same source,

                they are much shallower than the others seemed,

                though, upon reflection, those that passed,

                appeared less than what they now consume.

She scatters her feet amongst the dew-drenched grass, her golden, tawny hair waving in her own breeze.  Her delicate white gown is billowing its ghostly self in the strong moonlight, causing the stars to notice, and dreams to weep. She has a dance of her own, and each step is perfectly tuned to the night's symphony.  Now the cicadas intensify their cries and her steps speed themselves.

She has reached the river under a cacophony of crickets and one, lone owl. They have led her steady course to the bank, amongst the tall reeds. Carefully, yet still in dance, she approaches the shore, her smile unwavering.

Finally, she reaches down to the cold water wherein is reflected the silver frosting of the moon, and touches its surface.