from a room with slanted ceilings

In another place, for once.  These walls blue instead of yellow, yet the likeness remains.  A window from which to gaze, at treetops, at sky and clouds.  What we endure like some concrete mix plastered to our outsides, layering on another wall between what we feel and what we show to the others.  The talking we do, so careful, so orchestrated, a hackneyed script whittled down to nothing.  But today is not a mere trailing on of yesterday.  No, today is a rope tossed back to us, its intricate knotted fibers there for fingers to grasp and pull us forward to lighter times, when we are who we are and we do what we are here to do.