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  • Writer's pictureCrone

In between the storms...

...days of calm with a sky more blue than seems possible.


I feel the year coming to its close like a broken thing that is often flailing and flapping, but can find at times such grace.


Amid the fear and frustration, as people struggle with restrictions and with their anger at those who defy them, as people gnaw through their own limbs to free themselves from the chains, as people hibernate in wait, as people put on brave faces and a stoic demeanour (incidentally, it's funny that misdemeanour means something a bit different from what you'd think if you thought of what mis- and demeanour mean), as people lie about how they feel to their own harmed hearts, in all that, you walk on a sunny day and the smiles of those you meet and greet are a blessing thrown into the path of fate.


We can cut off and not look up and not speak and we are lost in our own storms. But a glance at some being who inhabits this same world can offer a reminder of all we shre, whatever we do not agree upon.


Today I saw the sort of dogs I am least fond of. The dogs that look like fighting dogs. Two walked on chains that seemed to weigh more than they did. They walk that purposeful walk. Their eyes seem to home in on weakness. But that is my mirage. They are dogs with dog hearts beating within, willing to bond, seeking to be loyal, desperate for proximity and the warmth of another body close beside.


My mirages may tell truth at times. They're constructed after all out of experience and knowledge. But they are decorated and enriched with prejudices and false beliefs. My mirages are only as true as I am honest. And my honesty is as flawed as everyone else's.

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