(no subject)
I miss the river.
I miss the sunshine and the strangers and the bridge and the soft trampled grass. And the river. The lethargic river with the lazy watercolors dancing on slow waves, and the fiercer current buried underneath, so strong and unexpected.
And the ducks.
And the ice in the winter and the sailboat leaves in the fall.
Picnics in the spring and sunken skipping stones in the summer.
I haven’t been there in a while, what feels like too long. There is one tall,twisted tree near the art buildings that I love, it’s so comfortingly familiar. If this misplaced weather persists, I really want to picnic near their again, or just....well, anything, I suppose.
Yeah, this weather feels like anachronism to winter. i want snow. I want snow racing to the ground, glittering and blurred, and chalky ice that won’t even yield a reflection. The weather we are actually having is nice as can be, but I suppose there’s just a time and place for everything.
Still.
I miss the sunshine and the strangers and the bridge and the soft trampled grass. And the river. The lethargic river with the lazy watercolors dancing on slow waves, and the fiercer current buried underneath, so strong and unexpected.
And the ducks.
And the ice in the winter and the sailboat leaves in the fall.
Picnics in the spring and sunken skipping stones in the summer.
I haven’t been there in a while, what feels like too long. There is one tall,twisted tree near the art buildings that I love, it’s so comfortingly familiar. If this misplaced weather persists, I really want to picnic near their again, or just....well, anything, I suppose.
Yeah, this weather feels like anachronism to winter. i want snow. I want snow racing to the ground, glittering and blurred, and chalky ice that won’t even yield a reflection. The weather we are actually having is nice as can be, but I suppose there’s just a time and place for everything.
Still.