A funk is a place of silence, isolation and sensitivity to external noises.
I live near a busy road.
There are people who walk by talking on their cell phones and use cuss words.
I have a noisy neighbor who talks outside on his cell phone.
He likes to use the "f" word a lot.
Sometimes his voice gets loud.
I wish people knew how easy it is to hear them.
I live in a mobile home park.
Our park is very clean with no riff raff.
Management makes sure each property is well kept.
For the most part, everyone complies.
On days like today, I wish I lived at an Embassy Suites in Scottsdale, AZ.
The sunshine, warm weather and brilliant stars would fill my empty soul.
I'd ride an elevator to my air conditioned room.
Unpack my suitcases and stretch out on the king size bed for a long nap.
Room service would deliver lunch and dinner.
I'd ride downstairs and order my special breakfast.
I'd thumb through the newspaper that was outside my door.
Then I'd sit in the shaded area on a lounge chair and read a book.
Sometimes I'd look up to watch the children swimming.
Moms and Dads taking turns getting some sun.
The whirlpool would be filled with muscle-achers.
It's time to order a glass of tea with lemon.
Now that I'm relaxed, I get up from my spot and make my way upstairs.
It's nice and cool in my room, refreshing cold air.
I take off my flip flops and toss my sun hat onto the chair.
Then I settle into my bed once more, into the quiet, I've craved.
I stay there as long as I want, I have no agenda.
No return flight is booked, as long as I need to rest, I take it.
When I reach "full" and my body and mind are well,
I hop onto that shuttle bus, Sky Harbor International Airport.
I'm back home to my dwelling place, God's place He gave to me.
I can still hear the traffic, my neighbor and others chatting on their phones.
I guess it doesn't really make a difference where I am.
I have to keep my inner fuel tank filled as much as I can.
