Do you ever write just to feel like you are the most poetic person on the planet? I just ripped the paper out from the typewriter and it says, "The apple's heart is eaten and the seed is spitten as I bury myself in the snow underneath the old orchard tree." What does that even mean? I had been reading this Robert Frost poem called, "After Apple Picking", right before I wrote that sentence and it kinda bleeded over into my writing.
Mom's whistling for Todd, our 5 month-old Newfoundland similar to the one in Hook, to come inside, so I leave my room to greet him at the back door.
Todd's at the back door giving mom some wet chin slobbers and mom's still in her nightgown from her afternoon nap. Of course, I'm in my boxers and it's just a perfect coincidence for us to smoke together on the back porch and talk about how much earlier the leaves are changing colors in comparison to last year.
Our neighbors are probably thinking, "Why, oh why, are they sitting on their back porch in their nighties?"
Mom and I are probably thinking, "Suck it neighbors, we will do as we please."
My mom and I will try to rake up a big enough pile of leaves to where Hide and Seek can actually be a challenge. Mom will hide, humorously, as deep enough in the leaves that I mistake her for the ground when I jump on the pile and dig for her. I'll occasionally feel what I think is a stick in the pile and then 30 seconds later, I realize that stick was her arm. She's a champ at the game. She takes it, hilariously, very seriously.
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