It's raining again, a slow, gentle rain like a sonata. The house is quiet, filled with the downy, golden light of the lamps, and I'm on the computer, fingers tapping in the same rhythm as the raindrops.
It's so terribly tragic how life catches you in a cage, like "the cage in search for a bird." It is how you fight your way out of this cage, if you can, which defines you.
Sometimes I think that there is only crushing ruin, that the lift of that lock only brings a deeper and more horrible mistake.
The terrible traps of modern-day life.
That boy, the one who disappeared in the wild when he was twenty, with only a burro for company. He was seized with the spark of adventure and comforted by a love of loneliness, leading his burro among the soft, red sand of the desert, camped in the cool shadow of nature's grand, terrifying wild. How the burro's velvet nose pressed against his hand, the sun a smear on the horizon like melted paint, and the empty expanse of the sky filled with a kind of limitless, boundless freedom - you against the vastness.
I think sometimes that was how man was meant to be, standing in the darkness, entranced by the incomprehensible wonder of the world. Now, instead, we inhabit office buildings and shopping malls.