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Oct. 14th, 2006 09:21 amCold front. I find myself hoping desperately for summertime again.
Beautiful things that I've seen recently:
Roses in a trashcan, blossoms lolling on their necks like tired children bobbing asleep in cars. Dried, brittle, they looked like they were weeping against their leaves.
A tree, with wounds all over it. Swollen, dying. It made me sad, and I rested my hand on the growth there as if perhaps I could heal it. It was like a tumor the size of a tricycle. But it had hope, and it was alive.
A peach-colored egg in a hole of a tree. It might've been from a bird or a person with an artistic idea.
Sunlight.
Beautiful things that I've seen recently:
Roses in a trashcan, blossoms lolling on their necks like tired children bobbing asleep in cars. Dried, brittle, they looked like they were weeping against their leaves.
A tree, with wounds all over it. Swollen, dying. It made me sad, and I rested my hand on the growth there as if perhaps I could heal it. It was like a tumor the size of a tricycle. But it had hope, and it was alive.
A peach-colored egg in a hole of a tree. It might've been from a bird or a person with an artistic idea.
Sunlight.
