Good Grief 111

What separates us.
What separates us from this world and another?
What separates one from another?
Are we ever anything other than utterly alone?
What separates us from ourselves?
What stops desolation taking over?
If they couldn't fix Humpty Dumpty ... what hope for the rest of us?

The house is in chaos of half done jobs.
Restless. I went out. Found an objective. Something to head for.
Couldn't engage with anything or anyone, least of all myself.
The prospect of work tomorrow utterly daunting.

But.
but the moss, the lichen, the stone, the position of everything in relation to one another, the lives, all those lives, each one utterly unique to time and place, all joining together at this moment of drizzle on a Sunday afternoon.