Soft Focus Morning

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“If you were trapped in an impossible situation, in an unpleasant place, with people who meant you ill, and someone offered you a temporary escape, why wouldn’t you take it? And escapist fiction is just that: fiction that opens a door, shows the sunlight outside, gives you a place to go where you are in control, are with people you want to be with(and books are real places, make no mistake about that); and more importantly, during your escape, books can also give you knowledge about the world and your predicament, give you weapons, give you armour: real things you can take back into your prison. Skills and knowledge and tools you can use to escape for real”  ~  Neil Gaiman

Somewhere nearby coyotes are making sounds that seem to be pretty casual. It fits the morning. Somewhere in the night it rained. That set the tone for the morning. Somewhere. By attending the Renaissance Festival last Saturday I set my sights, quite inadvertently, on considerations of fantasy and reality and what it all means, if anything. The fair, and all it encompassed, daunts me, and I have no inclination to even attempt any overarching descriptions of what it was all about. But fantasy? I do know that. It’s pretty simple, really. Escapist stuff. Fun stuff. Geez, I can’t find my words this morning; what I am trying to say, or how to do it. I’m not defeated – it’s just that kind of morning. The usual puffy eyes. The coffee, made a little too strong, but that seems just about right as well. The pending call of the coming workday doesn’t even seem to chip away at this pre-dawn calm. Yeh, I’d easily fall back asleep if I let myself do it. To dream, or . . . whatever. But I find myself liking the morning. It’s a fine and private place for me at the moment. As edgy as I feel I can appreciate what I have here. I am nearly always edgy in the morning. I wake up that way, then it settles down a bit, then I carry on into the day. Reality. The workday. As with most workdays I will spend time, on and off, looking for someone to break through the facade of the marketplace, to reveal to me that it is a fantasy world, and what is really happening is something more along the lines of what could be expected from a grand cosmic plan. And . . . just what does that mean? I’m not sure, but I can feel some deep stirrings that seem to be admonishing me to settle sweetly for this difficulty with words. Take it in stride. I think I will do just that. The morning is soft-focus. There is no need to challenge that by trying to pin it down with words.

Peace out, y’all. Goof gloriously.

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