Printing my diary

 The side door was opened, to reveal a low rim of cloud over the mountain, like heavy exhaled smoke, all blues and greys. A cold wreath for a gray day. As things wept and bled, steadfastly to their closure. The world non opening to it's past, moving against logic. Mute to the consequences of harm. Unseen things are playing out. The non speaking terms of our surrender. The confining limits to come. Humanity swept up and in rebellion against it self, like some hurtling wave. Breaking against it's doom. We all gasp in one breath, one shout, one cry, our capacity swallowed all the way. So I closed the door against the cold, against answers, cries and prayers. Against the grey winding, unlooping chaos of the year. Against the bitter threat of nobody being there. This is the time of our aloneness MB