Monday, July 23

scarring our porch

I used to be good friends with summer. Most of my scribbled, childhood stories took place during long, sun-splintered summer days. They involved popsicles and grass and me squinting into the sun. I read a lot and explored on the side.

Now summer mostly makes me think of excedrin migraine and too-hot steering wheels.

I want to lay on the cement and run through the sprinklers, but I have things to do. That's why I sat in front of my computer today for three non-productive hours. I got a thing or two done, but mostly I sighed and looked around for a reason to get up. After I canvassed the pantry for the fourth time, I thought: this unproductive fog seems to be sticking around. I may as well leave it with some memories to my name. So I bossed my little sister out onto the partially-shaded porch. She collected some rocks and we began scribbling. We scarred our porch with coded messages and flicked leaves at each other.

And I don't regret it.

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