Mondays | Michael Scott Hand

Category: Mondays

10082020

Posted at 8:31 am by Michael, on August 10, 2020

Already August stretches. Time is neither fast nor slow, both are an illusion. Perhaps even this sensation of forward motion is illusion. Now: it is August. Then: it is September. Before long it is August again and we wonder: what happened to last August? Then, it is September again.

A heart when drawn as a simple shape is two lines: they diverge and then meet. A heart, when drawn as a simple shape and then cut out of the paper can be folded in half. Folded one way it forms a perfect mirror of itself; the other a nonsense shape where the pointed tip of the base cleaves the heart in two.

Perhaps time can be folded in only one way, but do not forget that even a paper heart has two sides.

Good morning, Monday.

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03082020

Posted at 8:49 am by Michael, on August 3, 2020

I begin again; the same, but different. My consciousness aligns below eight numbers that represent the day. Another day. Another Monday. The basketball commentary is a low murmur to my right, too quiet to make out words. It is cold outside and the birds are determined to tell me so, I can hear them swooping and cawing between the trees.

This is a beginning. This is a low hill rising to yet higher hills topped with trees. This is the tops of the trees swaying in the breeze. This is the steep cliffs beyond the trees, the stone and the slope. This is the snow-capped peak of the mountain, beyond which lies another, taller mountain. And another. And another.

This is a beginning. The world, unmasked, wears masks. And once again I write three lonesome words: