These days I seem to think a lot.

Untitled Untitled

These days, I’m seeing I’m seeing sunflowers bloom and wilt. I am reading great American classics — Salinger, Kerouac, and Hemingway. I’m smelling Foldger’s coffee, perking in the percolator at my grandparents house. I am tasting cinnamon, on everything please.  I am hearing chatter of politics and the wild stories of old men. I’m learning that there is no such thing as the meantime.