I wish that there was something I could believe in. Besides gin & tonic, and citrus. I’m going through another period, or cycle, of disenchantment. Disillusionment. Having a rumble and tussle with denial.
Some might refer to this as “The Dark Night of the Soul”, but it’s not that dark, or deep. This is more like chronic gray.
It’s cold outside. And raining. A slow, consistent drizzle. Everything seems to be asleep. Quiet and still. The only movement being that of the ripples, dancing across the lake, set-off by the drops falling from the heavy sky.