At Bastrop State Park, near the swimming pool, a pretty big grasshopper flew into my face, my left cheek, side of my nose. I waved my hand at it and made a little noise of surprise.
It was really nice. I'm happy that happened.
At the front door of the refectory, I almost stepped on a little brownish snake. It slithered to the entryway corner.
On Green Oaks Drive, I drove by a hawk on a fence to the right, about 15 feet away from the road. It turned to look at me as I passed.
At Morris Memorial Park, behind the graveyard, white, colorful ducks and petite painted turtles swam in the pond and sat on the shore.
The secluded well kept more wild and shaded area
light-soaked days
more light than heat
john green
a fifties futurist fairy-tale
Mid - Sentry , 20th of the Lord Jesus
I drove Mom and I thru Easton Park. Or myself. Or maybe also . . . just her
We were impressed.
Infinite Aloneness
Not an infinite amount of time being alone
Just at any point in time or beyond, an infinity of aloneness , or solitude ,
eternity of being alone
this is good though
this is how we exist
i know i am
you know you are
we are alone
the soul of one person
the souls of all other people
together
by God
