against the light

The days are becoming colder. I pay attention to the wind entering and exiting my sweater by either wearing a scarf or not.

And this feeling. The grey sky that greeted me as I walked out of an afternoon movie today was both somber and refreshing. A movie does its job if you are able to forget your present and crawl inside a character on screen. Take your thoughts from what has been run over in your mind and turn them to a a $7 distraction.

And this sad business is strange. There is the idea if you think good things, your life becomes good. I can agree with that, but then the energy to conjure that substitution sunlight is more painful than just enjoying the cold winds seeping into your shirt, your collar bone. If this could be articulated properly then perhaps it could be better explained to me- and then answer why I actively choose the route of somber rather than the materialized sunshine.

I write better, however, when this stuff happens. And if an author is content in his life, then, I wonder, how does he produce tragedy? Or as from a line in a great movie; "Do you have to be in love to write a love song?"

Anyone know that flick? I'm sure you do.