rainy murmur

everything is hanging in bare thread it feels, that i cannot make anyone truly happy nor keep my own self happy. at this point im hoping to stay inoffensive, cause less trouble and that really isnt adding much to the world is it? it seems as if im committed to waste my life in sense of unfulfilled hope or continuous lament and it is also surprising to me: how did i get here?

it's another day of gentle spring rain here. with taste of the winter still lingering over, as the low chimneys of the old houses are breathing out the warm wet humid clouds from their hot innards, breathing, consuming, bearing the winter out, through and through, season after season. in the midst of grey and brown of stones, aged in silence and stories of generations and generations, there are hint of new greens shooting up, ever so hopefully, along the cracks of the stone walls, on the tree barks, on the tips of the fragile, once dead branches.

one of the very first signs of spring, or shall i say glimpse of spring (for now) were the birds. outside. during the uk snowstorm days, it was eerie quiet here, except for the regular blast of the passing trains, which was quite sparse compare to the usual schedule, thanks to the harsh condition that made the uk transport system to fall on its knees. we all wondered of their fate- birds need to eat about a quarter of their weight in average. would they able to survive?

and then when it all started to thaw, the first thing i heard was the birds. one day, through the kitchen window, through mellow bardic murmur of brad mehldau, the small life-bearing sounds knocked quietly on my ears. then they came, one spot at a time. floating through the vast open sky over the rolling hills. and they are still here today, while the each final points of the fractal branches bear the cold drops of the early spring rain. occasionally breaking the monotony of the opaque clouds.

things are moving with accordance to the flow of nature once again, gentle and almost unperceptive to impatient eyes. in couple weeks, this place will be a completely a new place, with all the greens, bursting technicolour flowers and all sorts of insects and animals around. and i will be back in the old hometown to do some odd things around. i have not touched music in a long while and i have no desire to at the moment. i am not missing the mountains, but am left somewhat empty and open. barren open field, like winter ground. with all impressive sounding degrees and cv, here i am once again, lost in my own head, while the world outside is slowly starting to dance the rhythm of the spring.

a best friend got into an auto accident today. got T-ed on the intersection by north american equivalent of left turn. the turning truck just did not look at all. a minor damage and no one hurt. driving experience of over 30 years and now one. i am relieved that there was no lasting damage. cars are machines. they can be fixed or at least with some difficulty, be replaced. what a day to go through minor trauma. drizzling rain. continuous. but it was fortunate that i was able to at least to make a cup of tea. builder's tea: black, hot with sugar and milk. comforting and soothing. for small minor upsets from the world. im having one at the moment. that probably will be my one good deed for the entire day. sigh.

personal plans are failing, i am not able to make anyone particularly happy at the moment and i feel as if im just a burden to the world. the world would be fine without me in a sense that the trees will blossom and the soil will smell green as farmers get ready for another cycle of life. and my own existence seems so far from the rest of it, literally connected by bare threads. as rain knocks down on the window ever so gently, i am wondering how did i got here. blue-gossamer covered greetings to you all, light and pale enough to send in the smallest movement of air, through the misty rain. from a lost winter wanderer.

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