One day I was standing outside, against a truck. The sun was beating down on me, and there was idle chatter of women speak in the background. The cars would pass by, oblivious of how wonderfully good and hot of a September day it was. A boy, as he was often referred to, continued writing, and that boy became I, and I became that boy. Across the street, 100 feet distant was a store. It was a very small store, about the size of a Japanese apartment. The “Enjoy Coke” sign was both quaintly appealing and fully implicative of its current purpose. I would imagine it could possibly offer me a hot coke. The clouds scattered as they were, all seemed to have some tint of held water. Rain was thus possible, yay the sun. Hoping that he was, a stranger by happenstance would greet him -- he did not entertain such delusions for long. As the sun beat down, the trees made their swaying noise, the cars kept passing by, and the people kept talking. It was quite pyrrhonist (Eudaimonia; Apatheia; Ataraxia; "Golden Mean") . That moment ended, when people snapped back into focus, and this narrator was given the mental option of singing alone with Tracy Lawrence's “Find Out Who Your Friends Are" (blaring from inside the building to his left) How poetic that my thoughts should amount to nothing. What was this boy’s name? A wasp {love bug), a now empty road, people still talking -- that was the boy’s name.
A wise scripture once remarked, ("Its winter now. The first snow this world's ever seen is falling in gray sheets where they've started burning our fields and orchards.") (“’But this winter won’t last, darlin’. Not forever. And when new hands set to tending this earth they’ll till my pieces under -- Grind them into the veins of gold I’ve laid. Then the roots of all they plant will wind around us; Keeping Us Close – For an eternal slumber that will never fade.’”)
{The now is all that matters...how small a piece of the puzzle (we neglect to consider the other parts, too)}
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