for cody.

who are you, little i

(five or six years old)
peering from some high

window; at the gold of November sunset

(and feeling:that if day
has to become night

this is a beautiful way)

'who are you, little i' by ee cummings.

it's fun to watch the colors change. to smell the leaves burning somewhere off behind me. to pretend that i can leave open the windows as long as i want. when i was younger, i would spend the extra daylight running barefooted up and down the hills behind my house. i dug my toes into the coolness of the sand pits and then let the wet grass clean them off. i would swing my feet off the edge of the bridge until my little legs were fully devoured by mosquitoes. then i would peddle home, through the woods and over the mounds and pull my bike into my garage and get back to everything else. i want those days back.