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spring presents her usual wavering between dreadful overcast rainy days and
curiously hot, humid days where the sun beats down upon us all as if we were the redheaded children of someone else.

the return of the sun signals the return of green everywhere
the honeysuckle have bloomed this week
and already down the blocks in astoria
the first roses since fall tumbled into winter have bloomed along the brick walls between the streets
tiny plots of magnificent gardens;
anything to blot out the concrete grey, brick red, black-top and otherwise drab city colour palate.

there is a kind of singular rightness in saying that i live here;
in knowing that i can always return to my apartment
having passed the year mark as usual is a curious feeling-
but it does in its way take the edge off the stress of being so nomadic;
when they called us wanderers, they weren't kidding.

never in my life have i felt so uninspired and listless, restless.
despite the comfort of my home i still deeply feel inside a sense of non-belonging;
as if i tried this too yet it does not hold.
i let the foolishness of my heart guide me inevitably into the same cycles
and still i wonder why it is i always end up walking alone.

September 2017

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