1/4/05 As I gaze out across the land today, it is frozen. White frost coats everything. Like my life following the winter break. Frozen in a solid shell, tough, invincible, and yet delicate. But it is a hollow victory. Nature has fled in fear. Not a single breath of wind blows. Not a creature stirs, not even a mouse. It is lonely at the top. But alas, now it begins to rain. Slowly, my shell melts away. It can’t be stopped. It is the course of nature, no matter how vexing. Like the weather, a transition point in my life has been reached. I stand on the threshold of adult life, and my security, everything I know is melting away. Chaos follows. Dare I trust my own judgment? At every glance, someone is offering ‘suggestions’ on how to run my life. I disagree, but am disheartened to find myself quietly obeying. A snail crosses the aquarium next to me. When coming across danger, it retreats into the safety of its shell, never having to face the world unwillingly. Oh, to be a snail. The rain melts my haven, my invincibility slides away, with me clawing at it every step of the way. Contentment is replaced with genuine fear. The utter horror of being trapped, with no course of action to take, with the walls closing in, slowly, unstoppably. I cannot retreat. I must take the plunge. 2/3/05 The world outside is bleak today. The sky is filled with a grey haze. Gazing out this window upon the world, I see only myself. Plants appear droopy- haggard- exhausted. They represent the eternal struggle to stay alive in a natural world with ever changing conditions. The two factions are not evenly matched. With every passing moment, ground is lost. Two great goliaths stand on the edge of a cliff, death slowly pushing back life. Wood cannot compete with wind forever. The plants exist, yet the grey of the sky has robbed them of life. A leaf falls. Death draws blood on life. The situation is dire indeed. As young plants are crushed by age, my own life is slowly strangled by stress and overwork. This cycle cannot continue. Nearby, a strange sight occurs. A peculiarity for early February, several daffodils dare to poke their innocent young faces out into the world of death. They have not blossomed fully. Rather- they remain curled unable to thrive in the speedy pace of life. Youth requires simplicity to grow and develop, to face once again the tyrant of death. I spread my petals.
