red dust.

I don't doubt the impossibilities of things these days, only, that the fight for some could be harder than others, and the cost to one may not be the price another wants to pay.

The engulfing, blue-blackness and sense of submersion so prevalent in the last months have lessened. Some days are already shimmering pale, and some moments, there is gold in the air.

"The most I ever did for you was to outlive you. But that is much." - Edna St Vincent Millay

Attended the wake of my grandfather last October, and the granduncle earlier this month, trying to find the words to paint these images: They were not exceptional men, neither did they pretend to be. Many flowers were sent for them, which lined the hallways. And many visitors came. Perhaps testimony to them having finished their own fight, in their own way, as best as they could. They did not please everyone, certainly, there are some who feel cheated. Inheritances and all. Yet, heart against feather, the final weighing is not mine to make.

I know the view of love and relationships I hold is archaic to many; it has nipped many relationships in the bud. I look at my grandaunt, facing the end of life with an empty hollow by her side where there used to be her husband for the last 60 years. I wonder if I even have the courage to love as deeply and face that end alone, or worse, to leave someone to face that alone.

Red dust. A reference to the fog of material illusion which a person must find his way through.

"Always be a little kinder than necessary." - J.M. Barrie

I can take nothing with me except what I leave behind.

Awareness, of my own nature, to work with it vs. against it. Of past choices, future choices. Consequences to live with. And how I wish to be remembered.

It is fragile, but I think I'm more at peace with me than a year ago.