I know, I KNOW, it's technically their little buggy bums lighting up because they want to make little baby lightening bugs. But for the sake of poetry and sentiment, let's just go with the metaphor.
Speaking of beacons, I have always been completely enchanted by lighthouses. There is a part of me that wants to live in one.
There would be a warm, cozy kitchen that overlooked the sea, a loft to sleep (none of this extra house BS) and, of course, the long, winding staircase to the top of the world.
It would be a life covered in salt spray and storms, I would live on hot, briny soups and warm bread and would polish the beautiful glass panes every day, making sure our light shone pure and clear, warning away ships from the treacherous cliffs.
Oh, right, I've never thought about this at all, never, no way.
But the technicalities--how do get things like dishwasher detergent, for example, or if a girl fancied herself a new sundress and a Corona Light-- would get in the way pretty quickly, I think.
I love science, speaking of technicalities, and going back to our lightening bugs. I think there is actually a lot of romance in science-- I'm more of an art mimics life kind of gal. I think the masterpieces we create, the love stories we write: these are our own interpretation of the world around us. But we like to eliminate the rough edges, turn our bit of colored shard into sea glass--softer, more beautiful. I think sometimes, like when trying to comprehend the universe, we can't do it. We need a mixer, ear plugs, a dilutions.
Those who stare straight at the sun go blind.
|AAHH that is reallll. Makes spilled milk seem PRETTY pointless.|
But the best books walk that thin line between the hard truth and the foggy land of a dreamer--which, I really feel, represents reality.
I'm done waxxing poetic, I promise (which, what the freaking heck does that mean?). It's been a dreamy weekend-- I spent it on a porch staring off into space, which I highly recommend to anyone and everyone. Watching birds sing and the wind through the trees is good for your soul.
Now, there are frogs making love outside my window, which is less poetic and not good for my soul at all. I'm in search of a good, thick pillow: wish me luck.
Pin of the, um, week? It's good enough for seven days, I think :)