Apparently, I take requests now. When I logged into my facebook today someone asked me to blog. I should, right? Whenever people ask me what they should blog about, i just tell to write about what they think about. Sounds easy, right? What if your thoughts have digressed from chapters, pages and paragraphs to five word sentences?
“stop biting the table.”
“Go to the potty now.”
“Let’s sit down and read books”
“We don’t pick people’s noses.”
“Go back to bed, now.”
“Let’s all go play outside.”
“Stop shaking the sippy cup.”
I do have thoughts though.
lots and lots.
They just look like spidery rivers that
dry into dots.
Right now, I’ve been waiting forever for the season of Fall. Autumn is my middle name. For real. I’ve really been anxious to see the last of the hornets that have plagued my last yard this past month or so (did i mention i’m allergic?). But I’ve mostly been waiting to see many-tiered clouds fight for space on the horizon, and for purple-orange leaves to curl up on the ground like the tangible phalanges of summer trying to hold on to the heat rising from the ground. I love Fall for the way it makes the tips of tiny noses feel when pressed on warm cheeks, and the for the way it heralds change. I get antsy. I don’t handle sameness very well. I like to move and travel and quit and start and end and begin all the time. Maybe that’s why I like fall. Speaking of changes, that’s why I didn’t blog for a while. I think i needed a break or something. Besides, it was kind of getting to be more of the same. The internet certainly doesn’t need another blog about what cute thing my kids did today.
I’m listening to an Adele channel on pandora.com right now. Corinne Bailey Rae is crooning at me in her baby-voice. Aaaaand next. I can only make it through about half of one of her songs before I have to skip it. Please, I get enough baby talk without turning on the radio to listen to it. Regina Spektor is on now. Better. I like writing to Regina Spektor because her melencholy muse makes me introspective. I remember, I reflect.
Here’s a poem i wrote several years ago while listening to music.
Quietly I slipped outside,
and headed down the hill.
The pale moon was trying to hide
and the song of the crickets was shrill.
The tracks are cold and my feet are wet
the dew on the grass has fallen.
Cold and splinters wont stop me yet
’cause around the bend is callin’.