Bruises

I wrote this a few days ago, but life has been strange of late.  But tonight, of all nights, it should be posted:

I don't know why, but whenever there is a storm rolling in or clouds gathering, I think of the sky as being bruised.  I love that word to begin with… bruise…  I think of it as a bruised sky.  Maybe because I've had thundercloud black bruises on myself… I don't know. 

But it is a bruised sky here today.  And these days are my favorite in New England. Watching all of this energy gather, made manifest in these charcoal-colored clouds.   They make me think of Washington Irving and Sleepy Hollow.  And then I really let my mind go.

I love colonial history. I really love colonial New England.  It has a lot to do with me being a nerd.  It has a lot to do with the perceived romance of that era.  It has a lot to do with what I can sense of it.  I let my mind go on days like today and consider what it must have been like.  Those first few months of settlement. 

I let my mind swirl around the feelings of not knowing my surroundings- the darkness of the nights and how bright the stars must have been.  What it must have felt like to look at those stars from a foreign land.  I imagine laying on a cot, barely asleep to begin and hearing a twig snap.  There's no sleeping after that.   Funny how something as innocent, as innocuous can become so terrifying in an alien land. 

People ask why I came to New Hampshire and I think- it's because I am finally in a space where I can let the potency of nature wash over me and I can feel the power of earth beating like a great heart beneath me and I can see history. 

I love bruised-sky days.

And until next time, I love you all.