SPRING WILL COME AGAIN

Sunday has arrived once more. "I" has been out even though its raining lightly. I went as far as the porch letting the crisp, damp air bring me a little more awake. As usual this early I was met by beautiful silence. Just the wind whispering in my ear. "Saul and Sarah," now stand almost bare. Their branches no longer able to intertwine. Now they barely touch. "Sleep well my friends," I whisper. "Spring will come again.

Is it silly for me to think I have spirits that live in my trees? I am smiling as I write. I suppose it is a little strange. Young spirits in my trees. My ex-husband in my house plant. I have written about them all before on here. Why not welcome restless spirits into the fold? I think it makes life interesting.

I wrote a quote I had read several months ago. "Normal is a cycle on the washing machine." I believe that to be true. Because in us humans normal is in the eyes of the beholder. Now society at large has certain rules that if we do not live up to them or adapt to them. Then we are considered strange and different. I wonder why that is? I am always wondering who got to write all the rule books. Like age appropriate and fitting in with everyone else.

I look around me and realize almost everyone is strange in one way or another. Some folks just are better at masquerading it. I for one decided long ago I really didn't want to fit in some small, confined category.

I right along with everyone else though will stare at someone in public that sits and talks to themselves. But really whats so wrong with doing that? Maybe they feel they are the smartest person around to chat with? Actually just leave them alone.

I talk to myself but mostly in my head, where no-one else can hear and jump into the conversation. For my own part I actually think I'm interesting. But I wonder sometimes if people talk to themselves because there is nobody else who will listen to them. Their voices are never heard.

I had a lady call me last night. She doesn't call often. But as soon as she hears my voice she starts talking about her health. Her voice trembles. At first I think, "Oh no." I'm trying to watch this television program and she wants to moan and complain. Shame on me ," I thought. She has nobody to hear her. Her kids don't call. She doesn't get out much. She gets afraid and needs someone to say, "oh I'm sorry. I know its rough on you." Her voice doesn't tremble as much then. Just someone hearing sometimes is all a person needs. Ears to listen, that's all.

The next time you see someone talking and mumbling in public. Just smile and say, "Hi. Maybe they'll take you into their conversation with their otherselve. But then again, maybe they won't.

You don't have to tell me. This has been a scattered morning. Its just I have spent the week thinking of the hungry hearts that surround our life's. Hearts that have been so down trodden. Many caught up in addiction or layered in loneliness. Hungry hearts.

I reach downtown Blogland. If you can call it that. One lonely flashing red light. One store standing with the dark sky as its back drop. I need to come here in the daylight sometime just to see what it looks like. I start towards home. I'm talking to myself as I go. Don't ask what I'm saying. I don't want to share. But for now. I'm outta here.