A prose kind of weekend? Well, so it is.
Black and white. They seem basic, don’t they? What is “they” and why do we have these opposite ends of the spectrum? Are they friends or foes, these black and white lines?
Musings, weekend musings, do come to my mind. Prose, anyone?
The black and the white do move together, spectrums of light that dance with grace and diligence. I watch the waltzing lines, the black cascading over the white lines, and the dipping of black is silky as chocolate sauce warming in a pot on the stove.
The white shade hungers to help the black strokes breathe, sweeping over it without want for itself. Its power comes from more than the socket at the side of this room, where I sit in a red velvet chair and stare at the ceiling. There are round dots up there and between them run the black and white waves.
The two spectrums. They are two sides of one band of color – the black and the white. Their waltz begins again, after my eyes open after briefly closing for a moment of self-sight. I am watching and warming my soul with whispers of lines that are anything but chaotic. I am nurturing my mind with the wonder of how these shades came to be above me.
And, don’t tell anyone, but I am hoping that my spirit will dance a little more once I am fully awake.
~This is christyb, with a dancing kind of mind.