I went running yesterday. It was partly overcast, shreds of sky amidst dark, grey-blue clouds. Yet the world was not gloomy, rather covered in a gauzy veil that made everything bluely luminous, and the muted colours suggested depth and richness instead of washed-out obscurity.
It was very cold, but my hands were warm. My hands are only warm during winter when I’m exercising.
🖋️ To dree one’s weird, meaning “to endure one’s fate.” Great title for a book! Now, how to write it… (Thanks.)
After lurking about all kinds of social media and blogging spaces and not really finding anything that suits my fancy or desire for quietude, this seems like a good place to land and consolidate. Let’s see if I can make a home in this crevice of the Wild Wide Web.
I was driving on the road, and in front of me appeared a Lamborghini, a black one, turning from the main road back into its showroom.
Oh, be still my heart. What a beautiful, beautiful creature.
I don’t usually pay attention to cars, but I adore the Lamborghini. Not for what it is, but what it is to my mind. It is the closest thing to the spaceship of my imagination. Driving one would probably be the only opportunity I have, in this life, to embody this dream.
Lord Jesus, give me a heart that desires to know you more and more. In everything — prayer, Bible study, worship, ministering to others — not simply to be doing, not even doing for your sake, but to know you more.
It rained today.
As I stood at the train station, I looked up and, for a moment, saw a different world. A world that was washed by the rain: simultaneously saturated and greyed out, as if seen through a glass or in a water reflection. An image that was a little blurred in the details, as if the water had blurred the colours just a little.
From the train on the way home;
The sky was completely overcast from horizon to horizon. Clouds heaped upon each other in fluffy mounds, or smeared out in long banks. The sky was entirely grey, but in greys of all shades. What a sight, that this monochrome colour, so plain on its own, can be so varied and vibrant when in a spectrum. How beautiful.
I love mist. Not the fog that stifles sound and blots out vision, but the gentle, demure mist that blurs details and veils colour. The City of Dragons, which I once lived in, and Burn City, which I now live in, are both misty cities.
I love mist, because it is a portal into an alternate reality. With a blink of the eye and a sidestep of my thought, I pass from the familiar world as I’ve always seen it, into a dream-world next to it. The mist is the door, and I stand in the doorway, in between, neither here nor there, but in both.