It's beautiful out. it's nearly 9:30 at night , but the air is still warm and complacent. All of the windows in my house are open, and a warm breeze is circulation through the house, enveloping me. My house is dark. The dog is asleep, and the kitten is relaxing on the couch. My sheets and comforters are in the dryer ,and I look forward to sleeping in something clean and warm tonight. I have the TV on mute, and the office is only illuminated by the light of the computer screen. I hear ticking. I assume it's the clocks. I say clock's because we have many. Many exotic, original, handmade clocks that my mom finds in exotic, original shops in the ever -so-ethnic downtown Bethlehem. My favorite one is a big rectangle, with three rectangles cut out of the middle of it. I can barely see what time it is on this particular clock, as its all in roman numerals, and covered in frilly swirly designs. But it's my favorite just the same, as it reminds me of something beautiful out there. My house is full of strange things such as this. Things from ( or at least inspired by) far away places.
I've never been good at leaving. Or, letting go rather. I'm always the type of person who keeps friendships, keeps things going. I want to go, I want to stay. Change, as inevitable as it is, is difficult.
The night is still warm, and the breeze is still flowing in and out of the windows.
