it's a hurt breath saying hello to an old summer.
the bruise on the back of my calf throws me back to seven years ago, in this same old house. the bruises were on my shins then, from running up the stairs with cricket legs slipping and laughing at the pain. our carpet is run down already, feet trampling it more and more year after year (my mom bought a colorful rug in hopes to make our house look better).
i stood in our laundry room the other day, folding stained white towels (we never manage to keep things perfect). when we were younger, we'd haul the laundry baskets upstairs to our living room and fold it as quickly as we could so we could go run off to spend our day fighting off monsters with our branch-swords. and before that, in the house only us older ones remember, we would ride those baskets down the stairs with squeals bouncing off the walls.
today, i shook silver hands with yesteryear. i settled down for a minute, and the petals wilted for the last time off of that rose. we say goodbye to old skins, she said (i still keep that letter in the back of my bible). so i take a deep breath, set the memories down in my garden like smooth stones, and take a long look at the sky.
He is calling me onward.
the horn has been sounded.
/x
p.s. here
