The picture of a man who smells like a cough drop telling me what to do with my own tongue and spit made me lose the taste for my thumb completely. Now it’s on to bigger problems, like figuring out once and for all what’s wrong with me.
My body slumps with relief when mom withdraws back into the house, the screen door snapping shut tight behind her. I don’t even know why I want to cry again except that so much of what happens in my life makes me feel off-center. I’m forever losing at this thing called living.
I stretch out from under the bush, dust myself off, and slide back into my preferred spot at the top porch step. It’s where the tree branches hang over me, sheltering me from the sky that’s falling inside my head. I know one thing for sure. Trees don’t need any explanations. They let you feel any way you please and just sit there with you in peace. I think that’s why trees are here on earth—to give every person the chance to experience the feeling of quiet kindness at least once in their life.
It helps to sit still in nature and think about what I’m going to do about life; knowing I can’t go on giving everything I have just to make it through each day.
Scribbling up my paper with crayons I finish my picture of the bright yellow oak trees on my street. In the picture the trees are emptying their branches. Their leaves have covered up all of the roads that might lead to confusing places. And there’s a special golden road that I pretend will take me to a nice place that always feels safe and good to me.
I guess the carnival is over for the day because the sidewalk below my house has already cleared of people.
Setting my box of crayons on top of my drawing will keep it from blowing away while I walk down eleven concrete steps to the sidewalk. I like looking up at the leaves spinning off the granddaddy oak tree in the silent sweet air. They take their time circling above me, floating in and out of the rays of sunshine that poke through the tree branches.
It makes me remember the feeling I had last fall, daydreaming into the swirl of woodsy smells that could only mean the end of summer. It was an easy escape from my heavy feelings. I’m feeling the same peace right now, watching the sun paint bright colors over the fading green leaves. It’s so pretty here. I can’t help but expect that this new season will bring good things with it.
Mom says the seasons come and go in cycles. On cloudy days, she says, “Oh well, the sunshine will come find us.”
I suppose the sunshine will come find me.
I just wonder how long I’ll have to wait.
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