I think there isn’t time for everything and then I think there is too much anyway and then I think I can’t decide what’s worse. I think about people lost forever and about the blackbird parents diligently feeding three young in the safety of the garden and about an entire population being starved to death. I think about the hollow unyielding centre of feathers and my own un-hollow yet vulnerable centre and the fact that people make careers out of having opinions about lamps and wonder why exactly it is that we haven’t made it all okay by now.
If there was one month I’d endure eternally, it would probably be September. It’s like the early 40s when you’re not so old that you don’t remember your 20s but not so young that you’re fumbling your way around in the dark. Loved reading this on a quiet but too hot May evening.
If there was one month I’d endure eternally, it would probably be September. It’s like the early 40s when you’re not so old that you don’t remember your 20s but not so young that you’re fumbling your way around in the dark. Loved reading this on a quiet but too hot May evening.