Crisp

crisp as the leaves in autumn falling on the sidewalk. reminds me of learning and possibilities and opportunities. i want to carry crisp with me everywhere i go even in the heat of a summer, suffocating neurons and synapses liquid and languid, learning becomes osmotic slurped down in gulps of sticky, sweet juice flowing from melons.

i want to carry crisp with me as i walk the barren, baked sidewalks of a lazy summer town that’s expelled its population of students out into the world for a season only to become pregnant with them again in the fall. it lies dormant and restful, empty but not mournful.

i carry crisp with me entering sleepy coffee shops, flies buzzing their welcomes and hellos as i gaze at smiles from shop owners as they take my orders and smell the warmth of old wooden floors and sharp coffee with edges that brighten and clear away the haze of july daze that bleed into august that become crisp septembers or just remain hot for one more month, punishing sun browned skin leaking salty sweat that collects in bends and folds, flaking, white salt extracted by the heavy work of waiting out the heat of the day.

i carry crisp as i read page after page of beautiful books gleaned from generous libraries, boundless with ideas and opportunity for community. crisp is a new relationship with a story that relates to EVERYTHING i am going through at the moment and can somehow always find in words written down and left waiting for me.

crisp is the hope i carry in my pocket, a “flaneure”, bent on wandering and wondering the gentle streets and meandering allies of farm towns riddled with secrets open to those willing to see them.

Advertisements