From my bedroom window the moon looks green..
My window panes are clear and the window open slightly.. Letting in the crisp evening air.
My travels flood back to mind.. None in particular.. But all warm.. Comforting.. Inviting.
Waves playing a melody in the background. The wind singing the chorus.
I’m there.. Of course.
I used to take walks. In a city that was not my own. Not fearful or concerned about anything.
Walks that would start at 1:00am and go on for hours.. With friends. Talking about everything and nothing.. Both.. At the same time.
See, I’d painted this picture. Created this stunning, vibrant canvas. It had so many layers and colours, brushes and strokes.
Problem was, I left it where I’d made it..
It was fragile – oddly shaped.. Almost. As much as it had been secured.. I couldn’t risk it.
Then all of a sudden this canvas.. Something I got so used to seeing everyday.. I’d left it behind and it had begun to be forgotten.
The moon has moved from where I first saw it. Or maybe I have? Doesn’t look so green anymore.
I am the editor. Despite not having formal qualifications, my decisions are final.
Should be final..
.. Are final?
I’m working on it.
I welcome change.
Progression over regression. Yet when it comes down to the wire there is almost always hesitation. Statistics look great and then plummet without warning. Take stock.
The image I portray is just that sometimes. An image.
Should I choose to reveal more of who I am, I can do so of my own prerogative – Surely?
Until then, I’ll look outside my window and watch the moon.
But even that changes..