Thirty-One: Week Fifty
Days three hundred and forty-four through three hundred and fifty
Welcome back to Thirty-One, the project where I attempt to write something every day for a year. If you missed any previous issues, you can find them here.
Day Three Hundred and Forty-Four (April 4th) Sometimes, after I park my car, I’ll sit in it for a bit and watch the sky through the sunroof. The sky is never dull, but observing it within a border provides a different perspective. Anticipation builds as surprising clouds drift into the picture and birds arrive without notice. When they move past, they leave a sense of longing on my chest. I exit my car, and the sky expands, but I know I’ve only put it in a bigger frame. Day Three Hundred and Forty-Five (April 5th) The weather’s been beautiful lately, so I’ve had the windows open. They have screens, but somehow, moths have been getting stuck in the house. Each one has been surprisingly calm when I reach out and cup it in my hands. It barely moves as I walk outside. When I open my hands to release the moth, it sits on my hand, comfy as can be. Each time, I have to nudge these small creatures back into the world. I don’t know what these moths are thinking, but I enjoy our small moments of camaraderie. Day Three Hundred and Forty-Six (April 6th) It’s often difficult to see the birds singing in the hardwood forest of my backyard. Without binoculars, I’m left to listen, imagining the being behind the sound. I learn their voices and let them paint a picture with their song. Day Three Hundred and Forty-Seven (April 7th) I bought a kayak today! After years of relying on rentals or my brother’s tandem, I finally have my own beautiful aqua-colored dream. There’s nothing more peaceful than floating through mangroves on a summer day. Day Three Hundred and Forty-Eight (April 8th) The least we can do is leave this place better than we found it Day Three Hundred and Forty-Nine (April 9th) With only two weeks remaining after this one, this project is almost complete. I feel like a kid who stops putting in effort at the end of a school year because it doesn’t matter anymore. Poetry seems to have gone out the window. In its place is a desire to rush through each day’s entry in an effort to reach the finish line. Never mind that a day is a day, and I’ll be done when I’m done. The end is tantalizing. Day Three Hundred and Fifty (April 10th) A gust of wind arrives from nowhere, rushing to embrace me like an old friend
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