reading "october" by robert frost my mind gets distracted in the middle of a poem. drifting like a piece of wood in the sea. the tide moves
inward but the wood keeps drifting opposite. a vision of my childhood appeared...running down my grandparents slope of land
the grass passed my ankles, and the wind rushing against my face and blowing my hair in all different directions. a smile in my face, my teeth shining as bright as the sun with my arms open wide and my legs moving quick.
the descent to the shore. the colors of the deciduous trees all over the line of the forest. then i saw myself running down, as if i were watching myself from the porch of the house at the top of the hill.
it could never be possible, but it still seemed like a memory. reaching that small square of perfectly mowed grass before i walked on the rocky beach. i always asked why that land was always mowed, but i never received a true answer.
the sudden slowing of movement as you reach your destination. there you were, at the end. no where else to run, unless you went up the beach just a little ways before the edge of land 10 feet tall collided with the waves.
that one tree trunk carved into a seat appeared in your sight and your mind remembered it from the previous visit. you take a small break and sit on it as your breath begins to catch up with you.
over the luscious bay you see the sun gleaming in the water, and the tall sailboats rushing so slowly through the abundant amount of blues and greens.
you know you'll never witness this moment again, but you somehow take it for granted. then it's just a lost memory. a "remember when" in small conversation.
how i wish i were back at that moment, no worries, no need for change or knowledge..just childhood ignorance. beautiful memories all locked up in the past. if only we could re-visit and enjoy.
- Mood:
Questionable - Listening to: caribou
- Reading: On The Road | Jack Kerouac
9.22
Tired
Artistic
