I’m sitting on a large flat rock by the water. It’s windy and I feel cold, though the sun still has some warmth in it. I should have brought my jacket.
The wind moves over the water and through my hair, making my skirt flap around my ankles.
The water is alive, singing, bubbling with noise. Small waves hitting the stony shore. I love the sound. It calms something within me, and brings me out of my little box of thoughts and worries.
The wind is increasing. I look up at the lake. Dark blue waters are glittering silver in the sunlight. I know it’s pitch black beneath the surface.
I feel a little nervous. Is what I write good enough?
I turn my head towards the sky. A beautiful blue sky with dots of white clouds, some quite thin, like a streak of paint.
I had a cold yesterday. I know I shouldn’t be outside without a jacket. But the sun made it seem so warm. I forgot about the wind.
I feel autumn in the air, though summer is still holding on. The struggle between the two fascinates me. There is something about autumn that makes me want to write.
I see a plane way up in the sky. I can’t even hear it. It leaves a long white line behind it, breaking up the blue.
I hear cars on the road behind me. A rush of noise followed by a slow silence.
My feet are bare against the warm stone. I feel it’s time to go.
The last days of summer. The light is turning golden, a new chill in the air.
I’m sitting on the my jacket, my bare feet touching the ground. A soft breeze makes the grass move, sway gently. The trees around me whisper something.
My feet tingle, like they always do when they’re naked against the earth. I feel a little thirsty, but I don’t want to move.
A small spider wiggles on a strand of grass, then stops. I wish it would leave. It’s ugly, a pale yellow brown with long, disgusting feet. It wriggles closer. I tense, move my legs slightly, but I’m still unwilling to get up.
I use my pen to make it flying, and end up losing the cap. The spider disappear. I have no idea where it is now. I think I made things worse.
I’m sitting in someone else’s back yard. The old house looks empty. I don’t think the old lady who owns it is here right now. She only visits during the summer. She has roses. As I passed them the air was filled with their scent. I wish I could take their sweetness with me into winter.
I feel worried. Worried that time is passing. Worried that I’m not doing enough, or doing them well enough.
I feel tense. I want to told onto time, control it. I’m not sure how to flow with life.
There is a bird in the bush next to me. Another answers from the forest behind me. The shadows are growing longer. Everything is so beautiful.
My mind wanders. Worries again. Have I done enough? Should I be doing something else right now?
I dreamt about dying last night. I really hope I go somewhere nice when I die.