I’m sitting in the same park where we had that squirmy conversation months ago, listening to two groups of students march away with bagpipes and drums. The stale smell of pot, the twines of bagpipes and the clicks of small drums sits in the air. A small puppy just licked my toes.
The sun is far away, but not far enough to stop it’s light from making an otherwise pretty park downright enjoyable. I wonder if the two groups of students are competing with each other for all available sound waves. Strangely, they don’t seem to clash. I’m letting my legs sit happily as fat as they can be on my perch as I write this. But the sun is leaving and the sound of juveniles (much like myself at times) is taking over the pipes and drums.
My page is full, my moment is finished, I am satisfied.
I did a double take at the moon tonight, almost missed a stop sign and pulled some sweet maneuvers navigating across Highway 10 all the while calmly chomping on a Twizzler. I drove 50 all the way home listening to the Amelie soundtrack and stealing glances at the moon who started this whole thing. What glorious summer evenings!
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