As I feel the grass outlining my limbs,
the wind rustling the leaves in the tree above me, I wonder.
I wonder and I wonder, I wonder until my mind is mush oozing out of my ears.
Birds chirp and tweet as they flutter to their homes from a long day of work, as do we.
And as the warm light of dusk sinks low behind houses and hills I shall remain as I am,
I return to sit atop the brick mailbox, its smooth, curved top providing a fine spot to view my past.
I feel the breeze blow against my right, my hair bouncing every so often.
Present and past selves sit next to one another. I can see through his eyes and he through mine.
I miss them.
I hold the memories like a baby bird.
How the Summers of the past have spoiled me.
It’s that simple.
Don’t worry about your worries.
Just put pen to paper.
I write to invoke feeling.
I want to be like William Wordsworth and create a spontaneous overflow of emotion when people read my writing.
I want you remind you that you’re human.
I want to be the cause of your good day.
Sometimes it’s hard to think;
Sometimes it’s hard to do.
Sometimes the sky can be white,
and other times it can be blue.
The ground can be soft,
or it can be hard.
What can we do but to love it all.
A sunset in autumn is like watching, what we can only imagine to be, the end of the world. This is especially true with the falling leaves. The trees look as if they have been set ablaze, and their twirling little ones are like the ash that rises and flutters down from bonfire.
I adjust my coat and roll my shoulders as I continue down the sidewalk, admiring the apocalypse. Children are at play in the park; their parents are keeping a close eye on them, you can’t be too careful these days. Everyone I see has some sort of coat or scarf dawned, there is a gentle breeze, I should have brought my scarf.
I walk past the park and start to see some of the mom n’ pop businesses, the smell of generosity and love fill the air as I near. Those smells always comfort me. The scents almost have their own look to them. Images of cinnamon rolls and warm bread, right out of a traditional oven flow into my head, I hope they stay for a while.
The sun continues to light the sky on fire, albeit she’s getting tired.
Rain pattering against the metal frame and dotting the glass
Calm, tranquil, necessary
Allowing the back of your head to rest against the nylon fabric seat
Happy, familiar, safe