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In the vein of Dark Muse, although a bit longer of a quote. :)

[I]''The more prosaic, the more dreadfully ordinary anyone or anything seems to be, the more I am moved to marvel at the ingenuity with which divinity hides in order to seek itself, at the lengths to which this cosmic joie de vivre will go in elaborating its dance. I think of a corner gas station on a hot afternoon. Dust and exhaust fumes, the regular Standard guy all baseball and sports cars, the billboards halfheartedly ...

Inspired partly by my cemetery visits and partly by the song Angry Angel by Imogen Heap which happend to play on my ipod on the way up, I wrote this at the cabin.

Dark Angel

Lingering beneath the
shadow of your grave
my angel of vengeance
watching over me.

How grave his dark looks
penetrating through my soul
as he stands still as stone
looking down upon me.

When he is angry
quivering ...

Yes I am back, so hide your children, is it just me or has it just gotten a little darker in here?

Well, as some may know, and as little may care, I have just spent the past couple days up in the mountains at my uncles Cabin, and it was wretchedly hot there. I had thought up there I could escape the heat but it was just as hot there as it has been here. Down in the foothills around the mountain in town it was 100+ and while it is usually always a bit warm down there, up higher ...

All winter we shivered away up here in a one-bedroom apartment, trying to buy a house, hoping to start the spring together somewhere new. Every house we looked at had nice features -- hell, some of you have seen many of them. Every place we saw was anywhere from 60% to 85% what we wanted. But there was always something, and sometimes a bunch of things, that we would've had ...

. . . . I saw a small English sparrow gathering some fluff for a nest. The fluff looked like it came from the lining of someone's old winter coat. And I thought how appropriate the metaphor was: a small bird plucking a piece of winter raiment. . . .white, raged and torn to line the inner shell of its spring nest. The artifacts of past seasons build the warmth of today.

All is liquid in nature, and the seasons tumble into each other as though there were really no season at all -- ...