There are days when you wake only to find the world seems a heavier place then one you left the night before and your body, not made for this new world, is too weak to maneuver its way through it. Today is one of those days.
Maybe it’s the color of the sky… Yes, I know it is. It’s not bright, not dark, it’s somewhere in-between. The cloud cover moves in like a layer from some atmospheric painting and makes me long for the dream world I left on my pillow. The whole world, every person I pass or watch on the train seems tired. Their all quiet and the scrape of the train’s wheels over the tracks seems more jarring than usual.
This isn’t sadness. I don’t feel it in myself, or see it in the eyes around me. Its weariness, the kind that tells me I’m human, that I’m alive and the world is moving me with it and each year, little by little, my body will grow more tired then it was the year before. Maybe this weight, this emotion I see in so many eyes around me, is the world reminding us that we are all alive and dying at the same time. The world is reaching out today and telling us this with its strange whisper.
I’m looking forward to my pillow tonight and the warmth of my covers. Laying there in the darkness, I’m sure I’ll think how the world is still a lovely place, though at times it sows weariness with abated sunlight and cold air too stale for even the slightest breeze.
(This post came from a thought jotted down on February 15th.)
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