Thoughts with tea

Fall sunsets in New Zealand. Pink and the palest blue. Brushed on a canvass so thin, one can see the tears the mountains make. Then, it all turns orange, and fades. This month has existed as thick and vanishing as quickly, as the mist over the ocean. Very clean. We cannot begin to describe it past our daily pain or pleasure, and, frankly, the mixed signals we receive. There has been the three tireds. First, from boredom. We are all well acquainted with that. Second, from travel, taking hours, if not all day, and not any farther than grand Rapids to Detroit, but through landscapes varying by the half hour. Frankly, a lot with which one has to cope, interpret, and, for poor carsick Kelsey, survive. Finally, from day long labor. Not as hard as the aforementioned three, as sore backs ease better than disgruntled minds, or the realization it is not the light casting shadows, but bruises mottling our legs. So as the orange fades, we open our books, drink our tea, feeling contented we need not escape, but only face tomorrow. At least I do.