Loose Sentences
The night was hot, the world an oven, its temperature rising higher and higher, as I walked lazily through the orchards and plucked an apple from overhead and ate it and watched a comet dancing across the sky.
I remember one serene evening, all dark and starry, in the spring holiday, when I hesitantly stepped away from the streets of Manhattan Beach and homes of new-money Southern California residents, and picked up a wool blanket, and put a film camera around my neck.
I recall one rainy morning, very grey and navy, in the fall, when I arose from a short slumber, and took off my shoes and opened the door, and walked out into the pouring rain.
I think of Puerto Rico, now grey and muted,once a place of color in architecture and topography and people, and my family comes to mind and brilliance returns.
I remember watching the sunset, holding your soft and semi-sweaty hand, in the spring months when you first told me you loved me, and gave me my favorite bracelet and laid it carefully on my wrist, and ran your fingers through my long hair and watched me watch the sunset.
I reminisce about being in California, and the soothing sound of crashing waves in the morning and the breathtaking sunsets on the beach during a time when no worries flooded my mind.
I think often about plants, flowers of all colors and shapes and types, and how they live, and how they breathe, and how all manner of life can be described "as a flower," and how they can just as humanly dance and sway and even cry their petals on hot, dry days.
I remember one day, all snowy and chilly, in the winter holidays, when I joined my neighbors outside, and dug tunnels under the snow and ventured inside them with the children, and shared a couple of wonderful moments with them.
The burger was delicious, all juicy and tender, sitting on top of a toasted brioche bun with sesame seeds sprinkled upon it, and swiss cheese and lettuce hanging off the sides, and three thick patties of browned beef to top it off.
I recall one winter night, dark and calm, during the month of December, in our family room, where I sat near the fireplace, secluded in the corner beneath the windows which towered and ate up the entire north wall, while the fire crackled and burned itself out.
I was walking on the streets of Berlin one evening, all damp and glowy, when I came across a festive Turkish cafe just across the street, and strolled to the entrance of the establishment, and ordered a crunchy croissant and a cafe macchiato.
I recall a somber morning, all gray and white, in the midst of winter when I pulled myself from the warmth of my home, and took a step in the snow, and heard the ambience of the woods, and took in a deep, fulfilling breath.
I remember one cold morning, all white and gray, in the middle of February when I tore myself away from my warm bed, and put on a saggy sweater of some sort, and picked up a heavy backpack, and braced myself for a long, treacherous day of school.
He arrived one winter night, all blue and purple, in the month of December when he hesitantly came back home from fighting, and took off his coat, and put down his gun, and went to bed as if nothing had happened.
I observed one radiant morning, all yellow and orange, in the early months of fall when I gladly decided to go on a run to take in the the beauty of the day's early hours, and to gaze upon the changing colors of the trees, and to breathe in the cool morning breeze.
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