the grey spreads itself out on the day, relaxing into the pose and breathing. he is comfortable there, blanketing us, standing between us and the sun. someone is chainsawing in the distance and it winds up and climbing, through all of the doors and all of the windows from there to here. this morning i am part joy and part sorrow, the fine line between the two. i am heavy chest and stretched out arms, i am bike riding and just laying down, monday and sunday. i am the prospect of passing time, i am the way that it passes. i am so close and so far away. and, like everything else, this is finite. soon, this time will be over too. soon, i will be living that other life, the one over there that i am away from. soon, i will be back there and none of this will mean any more that the meaning i choose to give it. before the soonness, i am concentrating on the way the smell of the sea is everywhere here, especially in the rain.