Observation.

Music of the Moment: Lightenin' Hopkins -- "Mojo Hand"

I'm Sitting outside, in the backyard.

The cool, damp air brushing against my face, my lips, my throat, like a lover, but with less charm, and too light and impersonal of a touch. It riffles my hair, which has grown too long for my liking, and the breeze makes the hair dance across the back of my neck, where goosebumps follow. The feeling of hard wood, underneath my fingertips; rough, and at the same time smooth from years of use. My necklace heavy and comforting resting on my collarbone, my jeans and sweater comfortable, a pair of my favourite runners on. My rings digging into the side of my finger, because they have turned on my finger without my notice. Tobacco, tasting sweet, and sulphur on my tongue, disgusting to some, even me at times. but right now, I enjoy it. An addiction I've yet to defeat, and for now, I indulge, as bad as it may be for me. The sleepy murmurings of birds, the last of the sparrows and chickadees, finding a roost for the night, only to awaken with the dawn and greet the sunrise, or the clouds with a song. Other than that, it's relatively quiet, excepting the occasional car traveling past on the road nearby. I'm sated on many levels, having enjoyed the company of wonderful friends, a very satisfying dinner, and arriving home when I predicted I would arrive. Sometimes those simple things are the most appreciated things of all. When the day works out the way you expected, and it leaves you with the unusual feeling of content, because the things that were under your control seemed to flow today, instead of staggering like someone who is carrying too much unbalanced weight.

I look out at the yard that I've spent so many years of my life playing in as a child. The cool grass a lush carpet of emerald, dotted with the sparkling drops of a rainfall hours ago, still clinging to the blades and glittering like diamonds in the scant light from the garage. This is the kind of grass you walk through in bare feet, and enjoy the feeling of it between your toes. Again, simple pleasures. The ground moist after absorbing day after day of scattered rainfall. Walking through it has made the hems of my jeans damp.

It's different here tonight.

Most nights, at twilight, the colours in the garden are vibrant, like the world has decided to shine a giant black light on the flowers. Super saturated in intensity. And I could weep from the beauty of such simple things, when the world overwhelms me with it's complexity and sweet simplicity at the same time. The bright orange of poppies with their black centers that my grandfather planted years past, before he died in 1997. The pastel purples and creamy undertones of pansies in the flowerbeds. The electric fuschia that is the little flowers in the pots by the cement stairs that I don't know the name of, but love to look at. There are aged wooden fences that surround the yard itself and the cement stepping blocks that form the back patio. The house is small, and comfortable and low to the ground. This place is solid. It is a place that I'm proud to call my home. The chairs on the patio, that I sat in at one point, whispering sweet nothings to the man I love over the phone, and wishing I had his company. Sometimes there is sweetness in a bit of pain. Sometimes.

...

But not tonight. Tonight it just aches in the places of my heart I've never really taken a good long look into the past while, because I was scared to go any further and get lost. Not anymore, I suppose.

I don't regret it. Not a single second.

Backlit by the garage light, are the stretching tentacles of dandelions, a foot long at least. The same weeds that I battle with on a regular basis, and the bane of any gardener's existence. These weeds, which are really just plants, are usually considered a nuisance and nothing more. However, tonight they seem to cast a sinister shadow. The height of them exaggerated, eerie. I feel a frisson of unease shivering up my spine, staring at them, thinking of how quickly they've crept out of the earth. I swore to myself they weren't there yesterday, but I'm sure they were. I've just been too busy to notice. Should it matter that they seem somewhat else tonight? No. Probably not.

What else happens around me that I've been too busy to notice? The things that are slipping my grasp unawares, and that were once important to me. The people I inadvertently neglect, due to having very little spare time. I need to pay more attention, I think.

This is a time for observation.