There is a solid wind with butterflies seemingly thrown about. The temp has relented but so has the passion I once felt. I consider making a t-shirt with the words Hormones are for Kids, but then think I'd rather just sit on these steps 'cause I have to fix supper and I don't need another damn t-shirt.
How 'bout a house dress?
I tell myself it is a season, this blending where words catch in the wind before they reach ears and I realize there was no need to say them. I feel less inclined, less driven, less concerned that if I don't do something the world may end.
Today I am grateful to sit and listen.