August, ( there is that A again) a month of change. And this time around, the dryness make leaves fall early. I am reminded.
I remember it as still summer and then why were we thinking about going back to school? I didn't like school much. Especially as I got older. I was shy. Insecure. Not good with people. I am the same person.
One thing defining the softness of another. A kind of kindness in difference.
A hint of oneness. A puzzle. A seam.
Lately, I have spent a lot of time, just burying hatchets, bury the hatchet, you know, forgiveness or less romantically, give it up already. I was surprised at how many hatchets there were really, some long forgotten but still there.
Anyway, I am done with them. Hatchets. I can see through them.