fuck sidewalks

Check on your friends who are afraid of change.

Not me though. I can adapt to anything.

Let’s get into it:

[elephant paths]

There’s a trail along the length of our yard from where our dog has repeatedly set down her feet. It tells stories of where she’s been all these years. Stories of birds chased. Balls acquired. Hours and hours of fetch. Not simply foot prints, but a sort of permanence left in the earth.

It feels almost gentle, the way the grass has surrendered itself.

There’s been no signs of new growth along her path. What was once green, now dirt. When I walk outside alone at night to take out the trash, I’ll sometimes follow with my feet where she’s been all these times. Knowing this imprint will be here long after she’s gone.

It’s nothing like being worn down,
but it’s everything like carving out memories.

/

On my way to work, there’s a stumpy trail that starts right beside the pavement. It’s slowly been forged between two bushes, under a tree, right beneath our feet.

If you didn’t find yourself in need of that shortcut, I assure you, you’d miss it. And as I take it, I have to bend down slightly to save my face from the threat of branches. It’s not pretty. But it saves roughly fifteen seconds on my walk.

Weirdly enough, the clearing reminds me I’m not alone. Others have saved seconds here, too.

It’s nothing like wearing down,
but it’s everything like being a part of something.

/

This year, I turned a few years older than thirty. And with that time, I’ve begun to take notice of my body. How my hands resemble my mother’s. How my hair is slowly, but very surely, changing colors.

And my friends, my beautiful fucking friends. They have started to take notice of their bodies, too. Though they’ll never say it with their words, I see very little forgiveness in how they take themselves in these days. Like some sort of unspoken betrayal.

But to me, it feels almost holy, the way our skin surrenders itself over time.

Not simply marks from aging, but a sort of permanence gained from living.

It’s nothing like wearing down.

THE RAINCOAT

an excerpt that made me call my mother:

Back in 2016, I watched Alabama Shakes perform at a music festival on a beach. It was a long weekend spent with my closest friends. Friends, that I didn’t know at the time, I would not see very much ever again.

It’s funny how life works like that.

While this song’s lyrics wreak of turmoil and pain, it just reminds me of digging my toes in the sand at a music festival, watching my friends dancing around, covered in glitter.

It’s funny how music works like that.

listen to live music with your friends while you can.
until next time. - cd