(no subject)
I am perched on an electrical box listening to the farmers throwing boxes and stacking apples. Up the hill, the tires of an ambiguous white van crackle through the woods. In town, a girl walks patiently through the thoroughfare: happy, but baffled as to why we chose this world. Did we ever really get a choice? I know I didn't and neither did my friends. Well, except for maybe the taggers. I'm learning to respect graffiti as both a brazen “No!” and a resounding “Yes!” It is the desire to will the contents of our world.
I've felt content these last few days; I'm always happier when I spend less time mired in self-reflection. Instead, I smell the fragrant punch of autumn in the redwood groves. I find my homeless home in small comforts: cooking my yellow broccoli and floppy carrots with tenderness, sighing along with the favorite songs of my seventeenth year, replaying vaguely coy scenes during classroom naps. I think I am leaving when spring comes. I told P. and S. and they listened and it made me feel good to be listened to and to speak. Where is this overwhelming benevolence coming from? Leave it to the farmer's market to make me love humanity. Despite the white vans and skies like heavy lids we all stare at candle's flames and we all shiver in the cold and we love soft pears and give ourselves silent pep talks on the bus sometimes.