Thursday, August 26, 2010

what the sky said

I'm perched at the edge of the sandbox, focused downward. Inward. Thinking about the way last night's insomnia feels circled around my eyes right now. About how all the matter between my ears feels overused right now. I'm zoning out.


A hickory nut falls from an overhead branch, smacking me square between the shoulder blades.

I'm startled.

Pay attention.

I suck my mind back into my head. It was spreading like a puddle, evaporating into nowhere.

So I focus my eyes on what's real in front of me. On my lap. On the dusty baby footprint on my skirt. It will brush away when I stand.

The girls come careening past, naming me a character in their game. They're on some imaginary adventure, circling around swings, slide, and sandbox. We'll come back when we're married, they call.

I watch them run, following their path with my eyes.

Pay attention, the sky tells me. They grow so fast.