Here by Glimpses Known - Barbed

I used to think I had a mind like a steel trap.  Now I wonder if it is not more like a barbed wire fence: Loosely strung, rusted, full of spaces to let thoughts pass, but still capable of snagging and holding on to things and causing harm.

...

On my country walks, I like to indulge in woolgathering, but not like these fences, snatching wool from passersby, hoarding and disguising their barbs under pearls of fleece.

Or do I?  

Maybe I catch inspiration like that speared leaf, snagging it out of my surroundings, only to let it dry and crumple while I find the time and inclination to make something of it, until one day, the leaf is a dessicated skeleton, the inspiration no more than a faint memory.

If Don McLean's moss growing fat on a rolling stone was a negative thing, I wonder how lichen growing thick on a rusted line compares.  Maybe, if want to work my creative process into this comparison, it would be best to side with the Ancient school of thought who viewed the accumulation of moss as a good thing. Like seeded oysters, those clusters of lichen might be steadily absorbing rain rich with elements and dust just gritty enough to grow a story that will spark my enthusiasm. I'd like to hope so...

( Photo collage )

This post seems to have a melancholy bent. Strange, for I feel not melancholic at all...

I think--thought?--I'm ready

...to cut off my dreads.

I asked J to buy some conditioner today and planned to cut them off this evening.

Now I'm having second thoughts.

Had the dreads for four years. That's a long time, and yet I told myself I would keep them for at least five.

What to do, what to do?  On the one hand I'm ready for a change and the other, I'm afraid I'll regret it.