Don't mean to get personal, simply feel that most folks want their clairvoyants, leaders, artists, and writers to live in the clouds. Guess those of us who spill our guts, bare our souls for all to see aren't supposed to be mere mortals. Not so, falling back through time, into treasured memories is universally human. Lately my past recollections have been drifting to a small town in Kansas.
You can't control these streams, flashes of cool evenings walking down tranquil neighborhood streets. Trees would whisper with the rustle of light crisp breezes playing with shadows on lush green lawns facing an unbroken western expanse meeting a cobalt blue sky fading to twilight. Oxford was the little hamlet that gave me solace if only temporarily - just a particle of my essence was soothed.
My harmony is always being blown to pieces - this bliss filled moment is not complete without the job loss. This stint even had leaking sewer lines. With the windows wide open the house still reeked like it was suspended above a treatment plant. These discharges from hell occurred during the last two months. Another stay over terminated by a far too familiar friend - unhappiness.
Maybe that is why these extremely rare spurts of pleasure are relived so vividly? They're a tonic that suppresses, makes bearable the unbearable - miserable life. It is true; at least my personal experience lends truth to the belief that cloud dwellers are not welcomed among the decent folk. Many may seek advice; the ideas may be useful, inspiration free, and tranquility infectious but to allow an uncensored riotous mind free range rights in your peacefully perfect illusions is out of the question - throw this disruptive spirit back to the wind.
But it was a sweat meandering down these quiet streets.