april second.

bradford pear blossoms, daffodils, and those bushes with yellow flowers (that i can never remember the name of) hold such nostalgic thoughts within their petals and (in the case of the tree blossoms) musky scents: thoughts of running to my neighbors house, climbing pecan trees in texas, and endless biking trips around the neighborhood.

come april, everyone always writes that uplifting, but slightly trite post about spring. they write about the rebirth of the earth and nature's voice growing stronger. as i sit here, it seems so redundant to write about spring. but then again, there is a reason that there are millions of cliches surrounding that wished/prayed/longed-for season.

this winter, i have found my voice and my ideas waning into whispers and fleeting thoughts. life has been more difficult of a weight to carry and death has appeared like a sweet repose. continually, my eagerness to learn has mutated into a desire to get to graduation. my love for others has been muddied by my gross love of myself. even there, my love for myself has been muddied by lies and has been perverted to a strong dislike. what i'm trying to convey is the bleak darkness that has enveloped me. the snow has been beautiful and the white has appeared clean, but the lingering cold and the absence of sun has caused the happy parts of my life to collect dust.

and then came today. april second. a spring day.

the breeze and the warm sun has done my heart good. hearing nature's voice singing out amongst the trees and with the little birds has done my own voice good, for i want to join her. the vitamin d has done my body good. my thoughts remain quiet and feeble, and writing still is hard. but spring has just begun and little seedlings take so much time to grow.

I don't want to do color theory. part one.

this story is about a little girl who didn't know why the sun rose up in the mornings.
one day, as she ate her oatmeal with brown sugar, she looked out the window and smiled at that the light striding through it.
this girl,
-we'll call her lula-
so lula climbed off of her tall chair and stepped towards the light.
she cupped her little hands and whispered "why do you shine so? everyday, you're here to say hello. why?"
the light,
-because of course sunlight cannot talk-
didn't answer.
instead he tugged playfully at lula's curls.
lula was very dejected after this very one-sided conversation, so she decided to go for a walk.
while walking down her little street, she saw the sunlight hiding behind a tree.
lula spoke to the light again.
but this time
-instead of whispering-
she spoke in her "outside voice"
-that's what her mother called it-
saying, "hello, good sir, can I ask you why you wake up so early?"
again the light didn't reply.
instead he tucked himself underneath a cloud and pretended to disappear.

to be continued....


i guess i'll work on those retinal paintings now.