"All language is but a poor translation."
Franz Kafka

Wednesday, May 26, 2010

the night's smoldering heat is unbearable... but a sweet burden it is.


a day of splendor. 


the sun shines down and all things seem different. my face erupts into a smile and my heart feels light despite the hot, heavy air. messy hair up in the clear blue sky, skin glowing in enchantment and beads of sweat travelling the back of my neck.


muscles sore from plucking weeds and mowing distances of overgrown greens. hands and knees dusted in dirt, creepy critters moving about.


cold water from the pipe, running through my fingers and tickling my toes.


slow and steady.


a day of splendor.

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