There's a blanket of flowers on my front lawn, the color somewhere between that of a bruise and that last bit of a purple sunset right before the blanket of night. In thirteen Marchs I've never seen them before.
My Sundays have now seem to have emerged a general pattern. There's a lot of sadness and joy-but not strain. It comes easy now, and it goes so fast.
As each spring comes, so comes a season change in my mind. It's never the same, but it always comes with some vigor, and some doubt. It's as if my biology is gearing up for it's annual number shift, and starts a new cycle of mindsets.
I'm a little scared of this one. The future is happening in ways I never could have or would have imagined. I've never been one to have a long string of future plans laid out before me, but I've usually been able to see the next few steps. Now, though, it's as if I'm walking in a dense fog. I'm not a fan of surprises, but I can get a grip on spontaneous.
This, though, this is weird. So the countdown is closing in on 27 soon-although the mindset has been there a while. It won't be so much a shift as it is an affirmation of where I've been. I very much need this kind of reinforcement, because it seems where I'm going is turning in a much different direction than I had ever thought.
I saw your picture, and it made me want to weep. My name was there, but it wasn't me.
And it goes so bloody fast.
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