kingdoms, promises, and assurances
because bread floats
and faith and hope are not in what is seen
but what is unseen
and doubt is in everything,
whether seen or not
i was bored last Wednesday night. It was 8pm. i kind of wanted to go hiking early on Thursday morning, but i wasn't ready for bed yet. So i drove five or ten minutes to the base of Mount Sanitas, and hiked to the top in the last light of the day. i took a few pictures while on top, some of which were, to various degrees, of the self-portrait variety.
Then i hiked down. It was a rather uneventful day, but i liked taking pictures at night.
My car was waiting for me at the bottom.
Cody Piersall is visiting me. Last night, we saw that some clouds were moving in, so we drove up into the mountains, near where my old apartment was. Fog covered the road for much of its upper reaches. Although it was beautiful, i did not take any pictures. It was a great drive--we talked about inspiration and passion and such. i reflected (as was easy to do) that the only times i have ever been able to write poetry have really been when i was absolutely miserable. i can hardly think of a single happy poem that i've ever written. i don't even know if i really have categories for happy poems.
i hope that's not all true. In the ideal world, i would write poetry and be happy.
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