Outside reading on a summer day.
A temperate June, a rain soaked May.
I read of life on the mountain side, "Dwarfed by the mountain, silenced by the wind"
To my studies I should tend...
"I must study politics and war that my sons may have liberty to study painting and poetry; Mathematics and philosophy"
Why does this feel wrong to me?
The gates of academia are strong, I haven't been here long but I cannot help but wonder...
In rolls the thunder.
The idyllic afternoon before too long is draped with gloom.
As the winds increase, the trees dance with joy. A gleeful celebration of the rain to come, Or a dire warning before it's done?
I find it best if I retreat, I slide my shoes onto my feet.
To go inside I open the door, It is colder than it was before.
I watch the branches move with the wind. The thunder roars, the rain moves in.
From inside I watch the storm.
While cold in here, out there it's warm. With fragrance gone, the air is still.
I want to feel the wind with all my will. Through my hair, rustling my sleeves...
Is security sacrificed to be free?