Ten.Two Thousand, Seven Hundred & Twenty-Six
The sound of rain.
Do I, or don’t I? I do.
I really need to get this timing down before the school year starts.
All of this is very ironic.
I recount a story about my neighbor Neal and how, during one summer, we used to go hours-long walks and have philosophical discussions. And we would wave to each other through our stairwell windows. That was the summer I was trying to learn how to play golf and I would hit practice balls in the backyard and on the empty lot across.
I remember that I am the timekeeper, which means I actually have the control.
Post-meeting walk. By the time we get back, we’re a little sweaty.
I feel like if I don’t clean out the kitchen drawers, I won’t make it through the semester. Or, like, the drawers are a representation of my mind at the moment: full, some of it useful, a lot of it not.
I extol the virtue of taking off work on the first day of school. I can’t wait.
A golden hour walk. A smile on my face. “Chihiro” and “Bittersweet”. A slow pace. Look at the way the valley below glows. This hill never gets any easier.
