No signal, nothing to be signified.
Yet I remain bound by my own construing. Waiting, striving for the realization of the Exact Right Thing To Do And To Be. Yet there is only being. Grass and rain. Unfortuantely also bills and jobs. People and words. Construing is a bit of a snarl in your hair, a tangle of what's normally straight and falling freely. I contemplate and set aside my construing, bit by bit and it erodes, my blood starts to flow a bit, the rain passes and the sun breaks for a while.
Squinting in the brightness.
Thank you!