Strawberry Bombs

Strawberries are almost gone. I gathered up the kids I watch and we went picking. The youngest kept finding the “jack pots!” and would dig little holes next to them so I could come and pick them. The jack pots usually turned out to be a dozen or so mushy brown berries, which he also enjoyed stepping on. I have a hard time enforcing rules, like don’t smush the berries, because even I can’t see a reason why not to. (The ones already fallen from the bushes.)

It’s early, or it was a couple hours ago. I’m doin the strawberries on the front porch, smelling and listening to the rain, and the occasional dump truck that passes by. Washington’s smell really only comes out in the rain, which is appropriate I guess, because rain is it’s natural state. Every rain I think of the summer I moved here, and first smelling it and feeling overwhelmed by it. It was something I would have used to relish in, maybe took a walk in, and wondered. About purpose, or where my life might go. I think it was the first time in my life where I felt I really couldn’t wonder. I knew what I was there to do, student teach. Driving out to the island, seeing such amazing landscapes, and nothing, except the knowledge that I in a previous life or whatever, I knew it woulda felt like something. I guess I’m having difficulty explaining. I’m gathering this rain up today and thinking, it’ll still smell and look like it looks, but I know where I am now. As much as I can at least, just have to find happiness in that.

Here’s some things

Flower, comin along, and it takes TIME. Bone, for a awesome doctor of mine. Man, I’ll finish at some point.

 

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