I’ve been inside since I got up, I know it’s nearly three in the afternoon and I should have more sense then to be outside, but here I am. My ass parked under the fig tree/bush and the sycamores. I can hear some youngin’s playing just down the road. There’s a nice warm breeze to keep me entertained, while the smell of fresh cut grass stops up my nose.
I’ll be fine under the shade; I told my bride. Listening to the wind ruffle through the leaves. I wish I could bottle this up for urban friends, so they could experience what I see, hear, and smell everyday. I spend a lot of time without my glasses on, I realize they won’t do me much good as the diabetic retinopathy processes. But I can still see the varying shades of light and shadow. The changing hues of green, yellow, and brown as the sun dances with the leaves.
For far too long I didn’t appreciate the things I felt, seen, or touched. I let precious moments slip through my fingers like fine grains of sand. Ambition and dreams are lovely things have, but so to are silence and being still. I wish I had a word for the emotions I feel at the moment. I suppose if nothing else gratitude will have to suffice.
“Feeling a wind that has blown across the ocean. Seeing the dew that once fell from someone’s eye. Realizing your love has always been with me. That no amount of pain could ever disguise.”