At times I think life is little more than a passing wisp of stagnant air, the only freshness others inhale is derived from enhanced accounts of misadventures. Like being on stage without the myopic script-prompter-girl at the footlights to save the scene from certain awkwardness I step into each scene completely unaware of the next lines. When events are dull a well conceived metaphor rescues me from another unimaginable stage death.
Perception is reality, I accept this axiom. Through the filter of rose colored metaphors I see excitement where others spy weary repetitions. So then, I am the reluctant captain casting my fortune on winds that urge my sails to uncharted waters. The sun has set its eyes north; warm intentions welcome the undiscovered country just out of view.
I offer the image of two lovers in peaceful slumber, a metaphor of two years colliding, the brief moment when mid-night and morning kiss. The passing year, bound to folklore, set these lovers on the same shore, the dawning year awaits the footlights and curtain, a mere proposal of acts and scenes to come.
I sleep with the reward of last year’s theatre and awake each morning to a dream come true… and that is my perception.
Life as a metaphor, care to elaborate?
Thanks for reading this far.