IX.

When I look up, I’ve forgotten how to make shapes in the clouds. The soles of my feet feel unfamiliar with the soil beneath me and it’s as if the moon and I have lost touch. Time treads on; time will leave you in the dust and never look back. Always forward. Always full steam ahead. It’s the mundane moments of my childhood I greatly miss. Laying in the dry grass creating stories in the sky, ones filled with all sorts of creatures. My callused feet gripping the bark of aspen trees. The silence, the stars, the splinters. Not to say what looks ahead isn’t wonderful, isn’t magical, but there’s a glimmer of something in reminiscing. I imagine myself in ten, twenty years looking back at this 27 year old version of me and smiling. If she’s looking back at this version of me, and if I’m looking back at her, I must be doing something right. And that’s something.