Potato Skies

A L O H A !

Too much golden butter

on these morning mashed potato clouds. . . 

Part of me actually hungers

for gray days

at this time of year.

I mean the kind of grey,

November days I knew
growing up on the East Coast.

  Skies of pewter, and stone.

  When the world seems
empty
of inspiration

or sparkle;

But that's OK.

We hide at home
accomplishing "nothing."
Reading the same page
over and over,
till overcome by
staring,
infectious as a
yawn.




I think
sometimes
we need to lie fallow;
like a field.

Something undoubtedly
mentally healthy
is occurring then.

Some of us,
slaves to the 'should'
need colds or flu

to force us to participate
in this orgy of
non-participation.

But I believe
in wool-gathering
days.

We sleep-walk through tasks

that cannot be postponed

(or ducked).

  But long to return home

  to stare with delicious
vacancy
at the TV,
blogs,

whatever. . .


Bed and beverages 
are important parts
of this ritual
too.

One feels (I feel!)
about as interesting

as a lump of cold potatoes.

(How nice for YOU)

But that's OK;

It's strangely cozy
feeling like that
lump.

Why have I never noticed this

while walking 20+ years in Waikiki? 

Oahu in November
has such days,
days of puddles and puddings.

  Days to savor. 

Days to be potato:

  All eyes, no mouth. 

Days to cherish the bland 

the every-day-ness

of Fall.

Of life.

  Blessed soft days!

To rest up,
to hide, 

to hold indulgent parties

 with myself.

(Another cupcake?)

What guilty, unproductive joys

tempt YOU to hide at home

on such a gray

mashed potato

day?

Rouse yourself long enough to leave a comment, please.

                                                                  Thank YOU, Warmly, cloudia