thoughts of now

August rain: the best of the summer gone, and the new fall not yet born. The odd uneven time.

Sylvia Plath
smell of fresh rain
sound of fans turning
late afternoon naps
sweaters and tea first thing in the morning
dogs going crazy all the time
drives with scenic views
hips hurting from standing
one conversation on repeat
different shades of the same color
people who don't think
people who overthink
memoir about a child star
rereading fiction
repeating affirmations
oil calming my anxiety
vibrant green leaves have faded
on the tree outside my window

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