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.
3 comments:
beautiful.
and if this was for this cody, then i'm in debt.
thank you.
Me too. Me too.
cody: this was part of our writing accountability agreement. too bad you haven't made good on your end of the deal! i'm disappointed.
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