Once more the sound of cicadas reaches my ears and once more it is something that I do quite enjoy. It is nice hearing life out there whilst I sit here and procrastinate the day away until I grow ancient and refuse to leave the room due to being so ancient that I know the room far better than I could ever know the outside world.
The reason why I know the room so well? I’ve thought about and analysed it a lot.
Well, to be truthful I only know the room in one way and that is in the way it makes me think about the room rather than knowing all of its properties, though I’d know some of those too… I’d hope.
But anyway, the sound of cicadas is out there, I’m in here and I’m enjoying the sound they produce, and I wish there were more of them. I wish they were louder and drowning out everything. There aren’t enough trees and there aren’t enough cicadas to hold them, and perhaps there aren’t enough birds to chase after the cicadas.
The light glows outside and it is almost overbearing but it does not drain the world of colour, though I’m not sure as to how it would. Maybe it would if a greater presence of light somehow desaturated colour, but as far as I’m aware it doesn’t; at least not in reality.
I think what I have today is a series of thoughts that run around each other and don’t quite connect, but there still is some sort of relation. What that relation is is not something of which I am quite aware, though maybe I am and I’m just overthinking thinking once more.
Anyway, the street is quiet but the cicadas continue their pleasing drone. There is a light breeze and it is there but it is subtle. It’s more apparent at a distance, but now that I am thinking about it and looking out my window a it more it is apparent that the breeze is picking up. It’s not picking up but much and it seems to change in gradual pulses. It also is not something I’m feeling much of so in a way, at least from where I am seated, it seems more suggested rather than stated. It is seen rather than felt and so in a way it seems more like I’m being told that there is a breeze rather than experiencing a breeze.
The light is changing and it is due to the clouds above. They continue their drift and variance in heaviness, and there are a few holes that escape their grasp, but they continue on as they threaten to release themselves and change into rainfall but they do not. They just change the way the light falls upon this area and they drift onward to somewhere else.
The sound of garden machinery spreads out from some location and it cuts into the sounds of cicadas droning and birds chirping.
The time it took to write five-hundred words: 08:32:79
Very shortly after I finished this the sunlight became much brighter. From the position of my desk I was unable to see where the gap in the clouds that allowed the sun to shine through was, but it was pleasant.
Anyway, a series of thoughts that are quite clearly connected and more of the relaxed variety, I think.
Written at home.
I loved reading this. The picture you paint is so completely opposite the snow and the bitter cold outside my own window. Thank you for taking me somewhere else for a little while.
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Happy you enjoyed.
I think the sound of cicadas is something I appreciate more now than when I was a child.