What is this nonsense?
Or maybe "What Crissy was doing when she was suppose to be working"
Or even "Mission Log 113: Local youngsters - appear harmless."
My window is just the greatest. It's right next to the computer monitor so I get regular access to the sky. (We're on the wrong side for the sun to shine in which is, if you really think about it, a wonderful thing unless I [or my computer?] wanted to grow plants or something next to the fax machine. Which I don't.) There's a willow out there, some sort of coniferous tree, and some flowering bushes (not flowering at the moment, but they do, eventually), some grass, various other plant life, and the backs of some of my neighbors’ houses.
And right now, there are two small children - a little boy and a littler girl - barefoot, and wandering around in the sun. Maybe he is her brother or cousin or some other relation; maybe they’re just friends. It could be that their families are friends, and, while the two may share their own personal enmities, they are united by youthfulness and disdain for the dull chatter of their elders. Certainly what they are doing now is far more interesting than anything this silent observer is doing (avoiding homework again, and stretching some of those writing muscles)
They have water guns. Some sort of neon plastic. The boy is pumping his desperately and circling the girl, nozzle aimed. He looks psyched enough to be facing a whole army of fearsome foe, which he probably is, in his imagination. The girl looks peaceful. She seems to have fallen on her butt and can’t be bothered to get up when these twigs are so much more fascinating an- The boy has finally succeeded in firing his weapon; the girl seems slightly put out. And outraged cry - it might or might not be my imagination, but she does not really mind; really, he should have mentioned they were still playing!
(There’s some sort of bird outside. Chirping. High pitched - it might annoy me some other day when I’m trying to study. Sounds quite like a squeaky swing... )
He’s quick to apologize, wiping her wet hair a little, which probably doesn’t help much. He makes up for it by spraying the soles of her feet - she’s giggling now. And now she’s gotten up... They’re chasing each other around the yards... and now I’ve lost sight of them.
The fourth wall... is made of glass and the other three are the borders to my very cool window. A quick cut scene into the lives of two young people I might never recognize again. It’s a bit like spying, I suppose. When you read a book or watch a play, isn’t that a form of spying as well? Have I just stolen a bit of their childhood memories to keep for my own, or have I snapped a picture to preserve what would otherwise be lost? Would it really have been lost? ... Whatever.
Hm, back to work now, I think. Time’s a wastin’ and I think I want to touch some daylight today.
EDIT: Okay. Now the bird is bugging me. A lot.
Little bird outside my window
I can hear you in my room
As you gaily serenade me
And eradicate the gloom
Your chirping is the sweetest
That my ears have ever heard
It awakens me each morning -
Zip your beak up, little bird!
-Jack Prelutsky
... Now I feel old.
Or even "Mission Log 113: Local youngsters - appear harmless."
My window is just the greatest. It's right next to the computer monitor so I get regular access to the sky. (We're on the wrong side for the sun to shine in which is, if you really think about it, a wonderful thing unless I [or my computer?] wanted to grow plants or something next to the fax machine. Which I don't.) There's a willow out there, some sort of coniferous tree, and some flowering bushes (not flowering at the moment, but they do, eventually), some grass, various other plant life, and the backs of some of my neighbors’ houses.
And right now, there are two small children - a little boy and a littler girl - barefoot, and wandering around in the sun. Maybe he is her brother or cousin or some other relation; maybe they’re just friends. It could be that their families are friends, and, while the two may share their own personal enmities, they are united by youthfulness and disdain for the dull chatter of their elders. Certainly what they are doing now is far more interesting than anything this silent observer is doing (avoiding homework again, and stretching some of those writing muscles)
They have water guns. Some sort of neon plastic. The boy is pumping his desperately and circling the girl, nozzle aimed. He looks psyched enough to be facing a whole army of fearsome foe, which he probably is, in his imagination. The girl looks peaceful. She seems to have fallen on her butt and can’t be bothered to get up when these twigs are so much more fascinating an- The boy has finally succeeded in firing his weapon; the girl seems slightly put out. And outraged cry - it might or might not be my imagination, but she does not really mind; really, he should have mentioned they were still playing!
(There’s some sort of bird outside. Chirping. High pitched - it might annoy me some other day when I’m trying to study. Sounds quite like a squeaky swing... )
He’s quick to apologize, wiping her wet hair a little, which probably doesn’t help much. He makes up for it by spraying the soles of her feet - she’s giggling now. And now she’s gotten up... They’re chasing each other around the yards... and now I’ve lost sight of them.
The fourth wall... is made of glass and the other three are the borders to my very cool window. A quick cut scene into the lives of two young people I might never recognize again. It’s a bit like spying, I suppose. When you read a book or watch a play, isn’t that a form of spying as well? Have I just stolen a bit of their childhood memories to keep for my own, or have I snapped a picture to preserve what would otherwise be lost? Would it really have been lost? ... Whatever.
Hm, back to work now, I think. Time’s a wastin’ and I think I want to touch some daylight today.
EDIT: Okay. Now the bird is bugging me. A lot.
Little bird outside my window
I can hear you in my room
As you gaily serenade me
And eradicate the gloom
Your chirping is the sweetest
That my ears have ever heard
It awakens me each morning -
Zip your beak up, little bird!
-Jack Prelutsky
... Now I feel old.