Historical

In life, experience has taught me many things.  What I’ve learnt is that some days are hard nuts to crack, some smooth chocolate fountains.  Some days beam bright rays of hope, some drench despair.  Some days bring joy, some gloom, some are hallowed, each day follows, a system.  Some days are productive, some hollow, caves of emptiness.  I can laugh one day and cry the next, I can sing one day and scowl the next.  I can run, jump, skip and fly one day, before rubbing my belly in the pits, the next.  Some days the sky is blue, cloudless, only the odd visit by a faint-hearted trail, some days the skies lower their brows in anger and contempt, some days they hang heavy.  The days can be warm and plants sprout, green leaves, daffodil yellow, cornflower blue, rose red and fuchsia pink.  But in wintry days, grey, black, burnt ochre.  Some days lambs bleat, small feet pitter patter, calves cry to mamma cow, and foals’ legs splay, kittens spray and puppies play, while the vastly experienced in life can only look on, counting their days.

My life experience has shown me happiness, laughter, a carelessness, a carefulness, love, danger, friendship, unity, good teaching, bad teaching, far reaching lands, exploration, deterioration, tears, pain, darkness, guilt, hopelessness, and much, much more.  There are days when I open arms, grasp what I can and days when I’m guarded, hidden in glaur.  Some days see me free, running in meadows, some see me captured in duty.  Some days, when I’m low, I can be so low as to wallow, wallow, swallow grit, feel the weight of the earth on my shoulders, thunder clouds hover, strangle all light, but sleep brings me rest, and rest brings me back to the me that I am, the me I should be. 

In all my life experience I have never tried and tested the days that are our present days, days of isolation, grief, guilt, fear, death, death, more death.  These days began from nowhere, suddenly upon us, upon the world, and we struggled through it as best as we could, we can.  These days are still here shredding disbelief, a year and more.  We’re not untroubled yet.  Our days are slow, they are tentative, tenuous, tedious.  Someday, it will be over, but will we ever have days like before when restrictions didn’t pervade, when we could be impulsive, when a trip to the shops wasn’t steeped in rules and regulations, when we could travel and see new sights, when we could hug, be close. 

In life, experience teaches me, I must help others, attend to their plight, I mustn’t let my mind take flight, I must be positive, objective, selective, supportive.  Am I those things?  Some days, yes, some days no.  Some days are exhaustive, cooperative, formative, evasive, compulsive.  Some days are mechanical, practical, physical, musical, hysterical.  But at the end of the day, what all our days become, is historical.