A Single Stem
Sunday, March 17, 2024
A single stem of silver dollar eucalyptus, so green, so true. A star to light the way. Damp towels, dirty socks. Doing one thing at a time, like, actually. As in, running sans a podcast or music to try and distract my brain from the monotonous motion of one foot in front of the other. Instead, I am there, fully, on the road, rounding a corner, feeling my legs, feeling my breath, hearing the clop, clop, clop of my feet on the pavement, saying good morning to the two dogs barking at me as I dare pass their house. Folded jeans, a staple. Lavender scented soap from a friend. My hair, the shape of a triangle, in desperate need of a good new look. The New Look on HBO, looks good. Speaking of fashion, I saw someone with a pair of light pink rimmed glasses the other day and I immediately wanted them, added it to my mental list of things to do, things to buy. To want. What I want most is to not want. The wind outside my window. The wind outside your window. Can you hear it? Can you hear it? Will you feel it today?
