Stream of Consciousness and Thoughts on Journaling

On rare occasions I blog straight from my journal.  This is such an occasion.

{weareinfinite}

I am in the middle of my first bike ride this summer.  No, I am not writing as I pedal.  I have parked myself under a lovely tree.  This may become "My Tree."  There's enough grass around it's base to let me get close enough for my back to meet the trunk.  Right where I've sat down there is a gap in the branches above, letting the sunlight flood in and around me.  Two labs have just come by to say hello and their owner is rather fetching.  A squirrel is galloping through the high grass and another is so kindly throwing nuts down from above.  

I've never excelled at the flowering descriptions of nature, poetry has always alluded me.  I always feel so contrived, like I'm trying to be someone I'm not, Emily Dickinson or something.  The truth is, when I look out across this park, with emerald grass, wise old tress and mysterious fountains, I see a different world, something so inspiring, so whimsical, it may be impossible to capture on paper.  I've always been this way with nature and parks, trees and rivers.  No one would peg me for a lover of the out doors, not even me.  But maybe it's the seclusion of it all.  It's just me and this tree... and you.

I'm not even sure who you are.  You don't judge, always listen perfectly, never interrupting my ramblings of despair or foolish declarations of love to impart on me your two cents, your opinions of my delusions.  You are so much more than blank paper.  You are a sounding-board, a therapist, a friend a canvas, an inspiration and with no effort at all, you reveal to me things I never knew were within me.  You never grow weary of my stream of consciousness and you never encourage censorship.  You have no fear of intimacy and transpose that fearlessness to me.  For a girl that is so "heady" all the time, you remain a dear friend always.  Your appearance may change, your pages may shrink or grow, but our relationship holds fast.  You are consistency when nothing is reliable.  You have seen my tears of sorrow and of joy and I swear I have felt you revel in my happiness and quake in my pain.  And for all of that, I thank you.

I am in love...

With the shirtless man, lying on his back, strumming his guitar

With the lazy labs who refuse to cooperate with their owner, who laughs and calls them "punks."

With My Tree

With this breeze that gently says to me "you are alive my dear."

With the feeling of my feet in the grass.

With the wrinkled tree bark.  It makes me wonder what these trees know about life, and would they share if they could.

{weareinfinate}