the grass gets a hair cut and the leaves that change colour and fall off.. is like us getting older and getting greys and thinner hair.
the rain that lands on the tarps and slides down to the bottom, are like children in a waterpark, gurgling up smiles that launch themselves full throttle into the ground floor pool.
the apps that buzz on our phone are the distractions we sometimes relish, taking us into a thoughtless colour coated virtuality and away from whatever needs to be done.
the gang of dogs down the road tempt us into making a dog suit and joining them on their evening adventures. what DO they do.
the clock ticks like a beat to the song of our life and the hum of the fridge coasts along the bass.
we make our melody.
we are the ones deciding, the ones paving our way for us.
Two times in a week is a record for me.
But I guess I’m somewhere within those frames of mind, that let me see a solid picture. One that I can feel for and write about.
My hands smell like the small rubber gloves I was wearing. I picked up leaves with them. Me and my Mom. At my house.
And when I go back to Canada for the holidays, I’ll be at my parents’ house.
And that’s all different because their house and my house were always the same.
I think I’ve done a lot of growing up in the past year. I think I knew it to. I didn’t try to swat it away or sprint from it.. I accepted it. I find that some people have difficulty with this and I think that’s okay because everyone is different.
I love my life and something very big is going to happen in it; if not next month, then the one after.