Listen; there's a hell of a good universe next door: let's go.

E. E. Cummings

I would rather learn from one bird how to sing than to teach 10,000 stars how not to dance.

E. E. Cummings

‎"The first week of August hangs at the very top of summer, the top of the live-long year, like the highest seat of a Ferries wheel when it pauses in its turning. The weeks that come before are only a climb from balmy spring, and those that follow a drop to the chill of autumn, but the first week of August is motionless, and hot. It is curiously silent, too, with blank white dawns and glaring noons, and sunsets smeared with too much color. Often at night there is lightning, but it quivers all alone. There is no thunder, no relieving rain. These are strange and breathless days, the dog days, when people are led to do things they are sure to be sorry for after."

I must be using you to get me where I want to go because I will not miss you when I get there.

Why is it that everything you think got washed away by the rain

comes rushing back the moment you step inside?

I want to watch the sun rise. Not like every other morning where I rush about getting ready for the day, being prepared, making it all mean something. Just to sit and watch the sun rise and know that that has meaning. That life is ok because the sun is rising and I can sit and see it. In the quiet. Alone but not lonely.

I just want to watch the sun rise and know there is a world with you in it.

"
And the clock on the wall has been stuck at 3 for days, and days"

-Matchbox Twenty

My wall calendar still shows August.

"'How old are you?'

'Well,' she said, 'I'm seventeen and I'm crazy.'"

Falling Round

Do you ever feel like you're in a snow globe? Perhaps on a day like today when the snow swirls past the windows of classrooms making it seem all that more warm inside after the involuntary shiver. Maybe when the flakes blind your windows and beat against the sides of the car as you careen precariously in your warm bubble from place to place. Outside is a toxic place, uninhabitable by humanity. Only mad dashes through the weather can bring you home. The world becomes pockets connected only by modern technology. Your entire world becomes one room, one chair, one window. We huddle to those around us. We are small, insignificant things in the face of the fury of the universe.
That kind of day.

But if we're in a snow globe, who's shaking us? Can they see the glass above that is above them, too? Or are they just as blind, as blinded as the rest of us?