I’m up at the crack of dawn, before there is any dawn here in Los Angeles.
Our seasonal June Gloom, has moved its way into July and I wish that it could be like this all of the time… I love the Gloom.
It is like the September morning fog of Pennsylvania, that oozes its way down the mountain and settles on the fields. Whispering to pumpkins harvest soon.
It’s the color of Midwestern storms that brew in the afternoon without the fear. There is no pressure, heat or stickiness to spawn a destructive force. Nothing to make me sweat, no veiled threat.
It’s so cool, loving, and quiet. It invigorates me.
I have been writing. If my fingers could do what my brain demands I would have had a shelf of books by now, but instead I was pushed to take my book back and completely re-write what I thought was going to be a nicely wrapped gift for under the tree.
Ho ho no, Spirit has another plan. I am in the delicious mind bending experience of visiting every memory.
What I write gives me the gift of watching my own private movie of life. It FREES me of any shame and pain that comes with the review.
It...no longer defines me, its just ...what happened.
I laugh and cry and do not wonder why, any more.
Releasing the pain, the greasy trauma stuck collecting grime.
In this gloom, things are ready to bloom. I know there will be searing heat in just a few days.
But right now I beam, without sun.