The Color of Rest

A grey continent of bleh is above, straight up over my head. Around the edges is blue and sunlight sparkling through white clouds. I feel like a cartoon character with arms stretched high holding this mass of concrete balanced on my head. Mimicking an Ethiopian woman carrying twigs to market.

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Only, this woman, me, I will not be able to sell such wares. There is no market barking that will entice a buyer for this weighty mass of grey.

This cloud overhead, it could be a blanket.

The blanket shrunk in the wash of last night’s sun-streaked rain showers. It doesn’t reach over your cold toes and the wind keeps flapping the edges and you  have to keep holding it down with your arms. Rest doesn’t come when the blanket does not stretch.

You look up and see there is light tinged at these edges. A reminder that it is day, the hours of work and production, and so you drag yourself up and forward and into the edges where the light is.

_____________________________

#FMFParty  I’m in!

Now, set your timer, clear your head, for five minutes of free writing without worrying about getting it right.

1. Write for 5 minutes flat – no editing, no over thinking, no backtracking.
2. Link back here and invite others to join in.
3. And then absolutely, no ifs, ands or buts about it, you need to visit the person who linked up before you & encourage them in their comments. Seriously. That is, like, the rule. And the fun. And the heart of this community..

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2 thoughts on “The Color of Rest

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