Observations
A writing exercise dedicated to making 10 observations of the world per week. No metaphor, no abstraction, no interpretation. Just paying attention. Page inspired by Vashti's, taken from an assignment created by poet Marie Howe.
September 3rd, 2024: Even though it was almost a hundred degrees when I got home, dew glistened on the cobwebs anyway.
September 2nd, 2024: There was a rat hidden in the lemon tree. Not ideal.
August 27th, 2024: Poured an avalanche's worth of epsom salts into my bath by mistake.
August 26th, 2024: The lawn was dotted with tiny white flowers and even tinier yellow ones.
August 24th, 2024:The gibbous moon hung low and gold, glowing in the sky's darkness.
August 22nd, 2024:I saw at least six custom license plates today.
August 21st, 2024: Semi-trucks without a trailer look naked.
August 20th, 2024: On the drive to work today, a cloud of dirt and dust puffed up out of nowhere. I was inside the car and have no clue where it came from. It got in my mouth and nose, and I tasted grit all day.
August 19th, 2024: The light from the super full moon poured into the kitchen.
August 18th, 2024: The trees rustle from the cool evening breeze, the chill caressing my skin.
August 16th, 2024: Found a house with a banana colored door, so bright it was impossible to look away.
August 16th, 2024: A nearby tree has a tiny red fairy door at its base. I wish to walk through it.
August 14th, 2024: Summer seems to end earlier each year while still staying hot.
August 13th, 2024: Trees are bursting with these magenta colored blossoms right now. The flowers are tiny, clustered together in little bunches. Bees love them.
August 13th, 2024: Hot water and cold water make different sounds.
August 11th, 2024: It's wish seed season. There were too many to count on my walk. Doesn't that feel so apt?
August 10th, 2024: Among the red roses in the backyard, a blackberry bush has propagated. The fruit is plump and shiny, and doesn't taste as sweetly as expected.
August 9th, 2024: On the way home from dinner, I caught a glance of the sun for a second. It was a second too long.
August 9th, 2024: From the very second I woke up, I knew I had started PMSing.
August 8th, 2024: The temperature has cooled considerably, but it still feels so listless. Lazy hazy sky, lazy hazy summer.
August 8th, 2024: While on my walk, I saw eight dragonflies. Each of them were either blue, black, or gray. They circled around, flying without real direction.
August 7th, 2024: My muscles are remembering what consistent yoga feels like. They're reawakening.
August 6th, 2024: While he lays on the end table gazing out the front window, my cat likes stretching his paw out towards the sill. Sometimes he can't get a firm grip so the paw slips, but he keeps trying anyway. The paint has chipped away in places because of his claws.
August 6th, 2024: There are still several blooms on the jasmine bush. Small and white, they smell so sweetly.
August 5th, 2024: The sound of the freeway is ceaseless yet always changing. I don't hear it but then a car honks and I'm all too aware.
