It rains outside. And it is cold and miserable. Spring got lost somewhere on her way to Moscow.
I'm drinking coffee and listening to Leonard Cohen. The song "Going Home" just hit me. I even closed my eyes and dissolved in his velvet voice.
I wonder why is that so hard to accept the weather we have everyday? Why is there an urge to to curse now and to dream of brighter future? It's too cold, too hot, too rainy, too snowy, too dark, too light. There is always something not right.
Is that our human instinct of some sort? The one that doesn't allow us to stay still and do nothing? The reason why we are not satisfied and moving one, exploring those far horizons of mind, body and soul.
Without my sorrow
To where it’s better