The soft spring air, and time well spent

Taking a break from the toils of a day,
       I find myself and my cares swept away.
   The gentle, flowing breeze carries the scent
         of the soft spring air, and time well spent,
   and carries my worries and troubles away.

On the turntable:

On the turntable: KT Tunstall - "Eye to the Telescope" February 7, 2006 Release - Relentless Records - LPREL06 (US Version - 12" Vinyl LP) # Title 1 Other Side of the World 2 Another Place to Fall 3 Under the Weather 4 Black Horse and the Cherry Tree 5 Miniature Disasters 6 Silent Sea 7 Universe & U 8 False Alarm 9 Suddenly I See 10 Stoppin' the Love 11 Heal Over 12 Through the Dark

A Feather Caught by the Wind

A feather, flitting on a wintry gust,
         Far from the warm security of its home,
     Where it once found itself nestled deep
             Under the wing of a lighthearted sparrow.

Graceful feather, how were you misplaced?
         What have you done to find yourself alone,
      Blown about by the frosty, incessant wind?
  How is it that you could have given up
       The care and protection of that home?

If freedom was your goal,
        Have you not found yourself mistaken?
    Can you not see the greys and whites of Winter,
                    Her snowy landscapes and bleak climes?

Surely the cold air
        Has found its way into your soul,
    Now forever marked with its bite.

How you must but wish for your
        Warm and safe home,
     So far away now,
             Traveling above the breeze,
             Unaware of your absence.

How could you ever find it again?
            How could you ever go back?

       Dearest feather,
               Warm down to a lone sparrow’s breast,
          Find your place in the loft tonight,
                In the shelter of the barn,
       Resting on the farmer’s hay
                     And protected from Winter’s icy assaults.

        Though you might not find that home again,
            In which you soared high on the wind, unafraid,
      Find a new home up there,
              High up in that loft,
         Sheltered, and enveloped in warmth,
                 Resting on that farmer’s hay,
                          Your cares once more swept away.    

Such a fickle gender...

Such a fickle gender, woman is,
            That with words enough
      They can securely hide what they might mean,
                  Though meaning to reveal what they feel so severely.  

Perhaps I cannot understand
      The message -- under the message -- under the words,
            Which find their way to mine ear,
                   -- Though it seemingly speaks not your language --
         And what truths you know and acknowledge,
   But would refuse to believe.

Such a selfless cause can prove kindhearted,
      And such a selfless cause can prove
            To be a shelter and security
                  From grief, and heartache.
         Seek out an answer, and know the truth,
   That you might learn to follow your heart, unafraid.

Look up.

If I could present to the world the story of my life,
       One might ask how it is that I can continue to be optimistic
              In a world that treats me so.  
       How it is I can fall, and then rise right back up,
              Smiling and ready for the next step.

I’m not so sure myself.
       I sometimes find myself wondering the very same thing…
       How it is I don’t grow bitter…
              Or cold…

All I can figure is that this life, if left to regret,
              would find itself far past not worth living.
       And the only reason to live a life of regret,
                     would be to attempt unhappiness.

I can’t live a life dwelling on the things which may or may not have gone my way.
       Things don’t always go my way, but it never means that the next one will not.

Life is always available
              To anyone who would have it.
Success,
              To anybody who would accept it.
Happiness,
              To anybody who would put it in their heart.

There is nowhere to go to seek it,
       There is no person to find from whom to receive it,
              And there is no action to perform by which to obtain it.

There is only yourself,
       And the acceptance that you’ve done well
              With what you’ve had.
       That you’ve tried the best you could
              In the time you had.
       Or even that you were a little lazy,
              But were able to enjoy life.

Accept that about your past,
       And know that tomorrow can worry about itself.
       What good will it ever do to worry about something
                     That cannot be forced to change?  

But if you cannot be optimistic for your own sake,
        Do it for the sake of others.
Do it for the sake of those who can’t see that it’s even possible.
        Let them know that they’ve nothing to regret in this lifetime...  
              Nothing that can’t be made up for through the sanguine future.  

       Let them know that there is no limit
              And are no bounds that can be placed
                     On the potential of a human being
                            Confident in the unscripted future.
                     And by doing so,
                            You may find confidence
                                   And contentment in your own.

"What worry holds you back?"

As you lie under the sun,
       And consider life,
              What do you feel?
       What emotions torment you?

What worries keep your feet
       Constantly traveling
              -- Constantly wandering,
       Never stopping to rest --
              In a direction that keeps you separate
       From anyone else?

Why do you run from Love,
       Dear child?
              What beast has Love become
       That it would trouble your wearied soul?

What feelings keep you apart
              From that which could serve
       To free that troubled, wearied soul?
              Or what feelings are lacking?
                     What worry holds you back?

Speak it plainly, dear child,
       That those with ears might hear.
And consider it thoughtfully,
       That your gentle heart
              Might find its own answer.

For what good is it to speak the truth,
       If you cannot know it yourself?
What good is it to know the answer to the question
       If you cannot find the reason behind the question itself?

So reflect upon a question --
       Reflect upon a life
              -- And spend time to find yourself,
       And the beauty which makes you who you are,
              And look past the self-decaying thoughts
                     Of worry and doubt, to see that beauty.

                            And set yourself free.