Saturday, February 5, 2011

Of snow storms and srawberries

It's snowing in Montreal. A thick white carpet covers the streets. A young girl sits in bed with her friend the laptop, typing away. A colourful string of lights illuminates the room. (said room is a mess, but we'll ignore that fact till the morrow). Our damsel collects her thoughts, pondering on the next line. Why did she start writing in the first place? But of course! Exhausted after her busy day, she sat quietly with a friend, exploring the wonders that the internet holds, and realized that she is tiered no longer. What more natural thing to do, than type away (especially if your fingers keep mixing up keys, your mind mixing up words and your imagination mixing up ideas). For instance, let's examine for a moment where the strawberries in the title came from... This is a most noble and ambitious quest! Perhaps a tad bit too ambitious for our young friend, who is at long last willing to succumb to the beckoning calls of sleep. Let her drift away into the ever-changing, unexplored waters of the dream world. Let her sink into the soft and soothing form that is her pillow. Let her be shielded from the elements, while deep in slumber she regains strengths. Let her be for she will likely make more sense in a more rested state. Let her be, we shall learn of the strawberries that trouble her so upon a different hour. Let her be and think not of what is not meant to be thought. You too my friend, be free. Go, frolic away, fast as the wind. Slide away, smooth as the river. Go. Be. Or if being pleases thee not, than be gone.

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