the Reader’s Digest condensed book of my summer

June was a month full of promise. My tenant and his repertoire of poorly played instruments had been shown the door, the bone doctor freed my hip joints to shimmy and stretch once again, aerials were starting to feel natural, and the whole summer stretched out before me like a blanket on a hillside.

July was antsy, waiting for the rib to heal, but there was much magic and fire and many nights full of bass.

August was a whirlwind of exhausting creativity- sleepless nights, pin-pricked fingers, and a rediscovery of a feeling I haven’t had in two decades. The land of Make Believe drew me to her shores and whispered sweet nothings into my ear.

September is just under half full, but what has poured out of the glass has been stress, worry, not enough creativity, and entirely too much reality. My body has said enough, and while I sit here feeding it vitamins and garlic and all other manner of witch-doctor remedies, I shall let my mind wander back to those promises.

I learned many things reading the book of This Summer. I made mistakes, I tried to pick up balls others had dropped, and the end result left me too far from the X June had marked on the map.

But it’s fall now. The leaves are floating to the ground, the air is a little crisp at night, and soon it will be time for more fires. I will retrace some steps, reconfigure my compass, and begin this journey again, slightly wiser this time.


Amano. Found here

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