Metaphorical Writing 7/8/2013

It is quiet and still and does not feel like a Monday.  Nothing is moving outside (not even the birds calling to each other).  There is a gray and cloudless sky, so gray the trees are colored by it with a haze that is not real fog but has changed nature’s pallet.  The air pressure feels thick and clawing.  I turned off the air conditioning during the night.  It is like a sealed box in here–sealed out from the humidity.  I drink many glasses of water.  I go to exercise, but something inside me is as silent and unmoving as it is outside.  This silence is not the silence of mindfulness.  This silence has no flow and is like the silence in a movie when something unwanted is about to happen.  The sun is supposed to overflow this afternoon.  When the birds are hiding and not a leaf is stirring, you just don’t trust it.  Any second the thunder will start.  One can almost hear it in the distance like a voice letting you know it is more powerful than you. 



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