John

John reaches a carrefour, a crossroad in his life. He cocks his head, pivots and peers to see where there may be concealed harm - or receptive faces. He comes to a place, like a wide, cobblestoned plaza or forest clearing; there may be ambient sounds. Slowly, there is silence and precise action taken.

John is of an age where he can be suspicious of the innocuous. His slight and muscular build is accentuated by a well-shaved head. There is no affectation here. Eyes betray distress and consequences of choices made, of regret, but glisten with mirth. This agile mind dwells on incongruity. He can engineer witticisms because of adroit insight, presenting the world with a jeu d'esprit to divert himself from the possibility of consternation. His grace displays the joy of bizarre outcomes. Life designs askew, John can dwell on precise descriptions of space and time to meliorate pain. A gifted speaker, his rubicund stories punctuate the air as an opera delving into wistful ideas that disrupts mundane existences with arias.

John shrouds infliction with insightful jocularity and a passion for discovery. Mock, he does. He can make rascally caricatures of heroes. Playful derision creates a game of hide and seek with observations and conclusions that can frighten and entertain. John's vocalizations are succinct and mischievous, bursting with impish gusto. The ambiguity between story, storyteller and frustration will bring those that participate to tears of laughter.

Now, John is choosing a direction, devising a new approach to his life. Expediency...? Will his future be a cambered road and can pinnacles of friendly havens be found? Will craggy, impetuous storms continue to saturate his existence with cacophonous improbability? Or will he dwell on the past that he fights to reinvent in spite of well-planned changes? Which way? What choices will he make, can he make?

Looking up and around - there are signs. A call to the universe produces much. All the guideposts are clear, direct, if you can understand the language of those concepts. Some signs may be noble rules. Others may direct a path of folly. The opportune moment usually enjoins decision.

Beware. The light of any moment can be overridden by a wakefulness that has been born of the understanding of one's own nature, natural desires, longings that are riddled with nature's laws and quirks. Will destiny elect the path incised with vexatious cataclysm? Can John practically solve universal enigmas that colour the mystery of his existence? Does he want to? Does he need to?

One only hopes his scintillating joie de vivre will prevail.

Hugs.

Secret

Eyes averted, he spoke in vague, one syllable statements. Sometimes the shrug was enough to rotate the unspoken scenario into a new view of his situation. Unseen and unheard, but as visible and loud as a drummer beating fury on the street, the heart pounds while absorbing the selected, untold responses with the heat of the unknown memory burning through her quietude.

Tear this tear from these eyes. A soul has been peppered with secrecy and the blast of degradation. Where can a drop of loves fluidity be found? What use are the sobs where the bark of that isolation echos this night?

These sinking rebukes will loosen the skin to age.

Simplicity

Creamy gray skies infuse the temperate understanding. While wishing for wind, a gust tosses the cedar boughs like a slap. Cars drone but no sirens just now; wailing is presently a memory.

Washing dishes has to be done in stages. Every few minutes, as the Dawn gets squeezed, what might be thoughts become an emotional swell as water spills over the plates and splashes the dish rack. Scrubbing initializes the sadness and fear that seemed to be stuck, as stubborn as dried soup around the pot rims.