Working Through the Beauty
Passionately in love with freedom; isolation from necessities of commerce, I’m alone in my room with my words; unemployed some might say, but I employ myself. I don’t wake to sleep through y day in a haze of dread, boredom and drowsiness, no; I wake to live, to fulfil my ambitions and desires. Life is whatever we want it to be and though some of us desire nothing more than servitude and reward; saving our way to a better future through inconsequential and insubstantial gains, I prefer to feel.
I want to feel the daytime caress as the sun calls me to wake through the crack in the curtains; that late morning sunshine as it peeks above the trees through thin, wispy clouds. I want to feel the sweet kiss of the gentle rain as I wander down damp smelling roads in comfortable shoes and bed-rest hair, looking at clouds that hold my million muse drops in big grey sacks. I want to appreciate the sun falling in the afternoon as I lay in a park on the grass cradling a dog-eared tome, watching the shadows fill the page as the sun creeps back below the trees in an orange and purple sky.
You, working all day, five days a week, why don’t you sieve through your days and see how many wonders the trickling hours have left behind. How many sweet scents lie under the aroma of stale coffee and sticky, sweaty keyboards all yellow from dried skin and time on grey or white plastic. How many of those hours were gloriously yours; free from impending chore? How many moments of your life are worth living? Is this the life you would choose for yourself; working through the beauty?