Nine and random

Sometimes I inexplicably blip hands. I thought of them when the sun rose today like a crumbling biscuit, already bitten off. Or like a misshapen chick emerging from the cracked egg-shell of clouds.

Though we had our share of laughter when a guest arrived last evening, most of the conversation initiated by them was from the top of their heads. When this happens, the moment slips away because we allow preceding or succeeding ones to intrude. Busy lives require us to dabble in many different things. It can naturally lead to a compromise in quality, but we aren't always left with a choice. A stiller mind can be cultivated. It moves fluidly through a variety of situations.

The soup last night was hot. Something about it moved me. I felt like some music. As it played well into midnight, it rose like little curled feathers, like a baby's cupped hand or smoke from a warm cup on a cold morning. Some of the notes took a path I thought I knew, until the unexpected turn, the occasional odd little sound blending naturally with the body of music. It was almost like a whimsical girl playing hopscotch alone, not bound to the grid of blocks sketched before her.

I like mild variations. They surprise me and make me smile.