Lawns

I feel a bit sweaty. The lawn is wide and well mown but dry. There isn’t a soul about. The sky is high and blue and sort of hopeful. But it doesn’t feel like autumn and I’m not dressed as though it is Autumn but I’m still a bit sticky, sweaty.

These days seem to stretch wide. And they are dry like the lawn I crossed before I opened the door. The door with a crooked open sign. The door that made me think, I’m not sure that I would want to spill my guts here. Maybe it doesn’t matter when you’re down and dry like the lawn you have to cross to open this door with its crooked sign.

These days see the sky high and blue and hopeful. To me they are just days but they are here nonetheless and I am grateful. I am managing to meander my way through with little direction, little focus. The focus seems just to be in the day; to watch myself move slowly and slightly aimlessly through them.

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