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.