Summer

"I need a spoon to breathe out here."



I spoke that and now have typed it down [like a feather set to rest on wet tar] about the humid air of Georgia, though I mean it in many different ways. We (my brother, mother and I) were discussing what I would do when I grew up, what I would mark on the walking stick of mankind. Using the imagery of a spoon was perfect as I have had the lyrics "It takes a spoon full of sugar to make the medicine go down..." in my head for the past three days and how a spoon has always felt nicest, kindest, that is, in my hand as opposed to knife or fork.



I have felt quite tender for the past three days due to the surgical operation in which my wisdom was removed, the minimal sunlight since, and the case of a full stomach more than often. All of which has led me up to today and the crisis of "needing to breathe."



I don't believe I ever want to own a lawn of my own.

I don't believe I ever want to "make a living." Or lead a career.

"I don't trust careers. I believe in hard work. And I trust God."


Though I am somewhat scared that God will set me on the bottom shelf to collect dust with the vegetables while the rest of the world is out making a name for history's sake. I'm just here trusting and dreaming and sometimes even praying. I should definitely pray more. I see it this way: God is a person that just happens to have said "ask for whatever thing and it will be given to you in my name." I just need ask.

"you're only seventeen once. and this is your summer. "
summer, pivotal though it may be with changes that can and will completely wipe you out like a wave over a three year old, is to be collected and fondled like a blackberry or a honey suckle and smeared into your embarrassing and unpopular 'farmer's tan.' It is to become gritty on top of your unwashed hair and to smell like watermelon. Bask bask bask it like twine holding hands with a kite. Bask it I say! Basket! and blanket to send like a letter to an old friend through the wind, over the little forest and the giant white fences, somewhere too far to name, past the Himalayas, straight into the heart of the earth bursting with the sound track of Sigur Ros' Saeglopur. And you are to return to the civilized world with it crusted in the corner of your eyes, your vibrant green eyes. So real.

convivial \kuhn-VIV-ee-uhl\, adjective:
Relating to, occupied with, or fond of feasting, drinking, and good company; merry; festive.


I find it hard to leave my frown and gallop with the convivial. In fact, the brighter the smiles get, it seems my frown grows to compensate. Maybe I was meant to be a watch dog. Call me Watch Dog if you like. I was meant to be sober, to check the meter, be the designated driver. ?