There is something rather romantic about keeping a physical, paper journal. And that is why I have always tended that direction… and I shall keep on that road. However, the occasional electronic entry (that is not quite so personal) is ever so easy and tantalizing in that my typing “almost” keeps up with my thoughts, whereas my hand is far slower than the rapid, confusing and heedless tumble my thoughts take.

Today is a day I feel should be spent under willow trees… languishing in the slight breeze and eavesdropping on the conversation between birds overheard… I love the city at times, and then on days like today… it falls short in displaying imagery worthy of the emotional muddle going on within me. I want to climb up in a tree and stretch across a branch and just gaze out… and think…

And there is too much noise in a city. Especially in the house I live in where no one can seem to handle silence… they are forever blasting their music in a way that states they believe everyone within 10 miles ought to listen to it as well… and sometimes I find it disheartening…. My mind is interrupted from any chance at reverie or a moment of necessary melancholy.

And today, as the wind is cruel and threatening rain, I cannot escape. I cannot find my way to my favorite little patch of park and settle on a bench to read, or write… or just fall off into a daydream, or plunge into a pocket of thoughts best left for uninterrupted soul searching.

And that saddens me most of all. So often I am building things up in life and in my mind to be far more than they are… and when I encounter the inevitable disappointment of reality or the intrusion of another truth altogether… I need to be able to gather my wistful thoughts and tenderly remind them that all is not lost.