Stuck in this Haze

A vivid imagination mixed with a pair of eyes and the world begins to have personality. A little self control: consistent stationary object behavior and explanations. People, though? People are not a consistent object. Their behavior is beyond our control (even for the most outgoing persuasives, you'll meet that one who crashes your twists). Simply best just to get over that fact. Or better, embrace it. Tomorrow is definitely yours to seize, but people's behavior (directly) is not. Not happily. Not with any grace.The difference between a centered,  polite suggestion and a manipulative demand is catastrophically great.

For a moment I imagine that we all have a hand in someone else's behavior. Our speech, our actions, our moods, even our thoughts, will affect those around us. But, when we attempt to engineer those things in others which are best left to sincere endorsement, appreciation, or earnest entreatings we spoil our good will and intent. We forget ourselves and delve into something not given, unable to be taken. We attempt to dominate. The insolent fool who tries this may have the best of intent or a noble aim,  but those things are lost in the act of trying to domineer a human soul. If such behavior becomes a habit, becomes accepted as a persons own lifestyle, then friends may seem few and far between. Life begins to be a vicarious haze as a person attempts to read and be another.

The stark realization that one must step back and with sincerity plead ones humanity and encourage ones cause with respect for the individual is a most humbling one. It is also a most necessary one.

To love that person that we are and give up the need to attempt control of others is key. To love another is to respect not only their individuality, but to encourage it for the better.

Leafing you

I remember. The smell was brisk and moist in the chill backyard. The daylight was fast maturing and the last rays formed the twilight. We all joyously ran about in those brief minutes of illumination. Hot humid home left behind and the smells of soup on the stove and bread baking held a promising future. The moment was granted a temporal security. Safely we knew our present. The chill now could be basked in with such bright warmth later. As the piles of wet leaves were flung at rosy cheeks and puffy coats, and yells carried from the game of tag just a short distance, the breath burned in your throat refreshing and the laughter sincerely flowed. Fall trees warmed in the golden rays too high above our heads, wet grass lapped against our shoes, and children hid and sought in the moist wooden structures. When the parents yelled the dinner done we would all be soaked and chilled and happy for a reprieve. But, until then, maple clung to us in our slipping about the grass. "You're it! You're it!"