Like a padded carpet, tiny petals of chestnut blossoms arranged in the shade of an aged tree – flecks of sunlight illuminate the shadows, a picture of another week gone by. Nothing stays the same, everything around us constantly changing.
Spring showing its presence just long enough, not to let all hope die. This week felt more like the beginning of November: a sharp chill in the wind and rain and the threat of snow to come sends you back to the closet to find another woolen sweater to warm the bones.
First the coldest and darkest winter since the beginning of weather recordings, now -cold and rain and the possibility of snowfall!
Despite the many holidays this month has to offer by way of reprieve-no chance to enjoy it outdoors. Oh well, there is always the central heating!!!
Highlights of the week, time spent with my friend, deep discussions about serious issues that we share. Maybe a bit too much wine and too many waking hours, but thoroughly enjoyable and touching. Well worth the lack of sleep the next day.
The course is winding down, another test came back with a great result, I signed a contract for my internship starting mid June, things falling into place. Ideas in the back of my head of which direction I want to take when that is completed and I have my certificate in my hands…
I managed the challenge of being in school full time and all my housework duties, my Mom was on vacation for 10 days, with no incidences what so ever.
My own dark spots and lows of the week of course are directly related to my past. The trespassing, relentless and tiring efforts to meddle and to provoke problems always lead straight back to the reason why I came here in the first place. This always happens in cycles, starting with bad mouthing and threats, moving on to preacher like sermons/prophecies and absolutions which graduate into sweet talking angle tongued flatteries.
Despite the distance and time – no remission.
This made me think of of this wonderful poem by Rudyard Kipling…beautiful words to take into the new week:
If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don’t deal in lies,
Or being hated, don’t give way to hating,
And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise:
If you can dream—and not make dreams your master;
If you can think—and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build ’em up with worn-out tools:
If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breathe a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: ‘Hold on!’
If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with Kings—nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it,
And—which is more—you’ll be a Man, my son!
(Of course in my case: a woman)!