sept 22

first day back from summer commitments and the grey is heavy on the rooftops. the grey is weighing down the green of the trees into brown and the branches are frozen in a tussle. I am going to be taking  early american literature, the second instillation of french, and a prose writing class. The elements of style in a story form. The elements of the periodic table in cosmic form. Possibility of failure is minor, so small, an etching on a paper erased by spilled coffee. These will be mornings of bounding up out of bed with the eagerness to pursue a dream, at least a temporary dream, as it flies in all directions, makes me chase it, lose it, find something else as beautiful and majestic in the forest of my life and experience, creatures walk the earth, all the time, and in between the spaces of the fictional and the real will be my own self, furry with fiery eyes, hiding among the grey branches of my world.