Of Flying Time and Rushing Skies (but not neccesarily in that order)

Today...was good.

Well, it didn't start off very good. Let's just say that when some teachers say "class discussion," they actually mean "try and defend your opinion against your very close-minded teacher." Which is not the same thing. It makes me miss gov school--Sara would give us a reading, or Corbesero would give us articles, and the next day they would say "you defend this side, you defend that side--go." And then--you know what they did? Well, let me tell you what they didn't do: Stand up in front of the room making people raise their hands so that they could pick them off one by one. No, they sat down in the back of the room and watched us have it out.

And you know what's great? I learned that way. And you know what's not great? Governor's School doesn't count. I guess I shouldn't compare, but this kinda sucks.

So after a grueling day of, uh, two classes, a study hall, and senior priv (hey, at least my work's done), I had one of those afternoons...you know the ones. Friends, coffee, and long-awaited conversations about things that just shouldn't be said over the computer. The kind that inspire you to do whatever you do--draw, write, play. Or, you know, all three.

So, as I said. There was talking and iced coffee, journals, doodles, a disregard for wardrobe malfunctions. There was walking, and more talking--talking as usual, monologue, long, companionable silence, monologue. Maybe about the same thing, but not necessarily. Shoes were removed. There was cursing and apologizing and--what else? Swinging.

And there sure is something about the sky rushing towards you, something about the breeze in your face, something about the centripetal motion--leaves and branches are inches, then feet away, and before you know it, you're brushing your toes against them once again. I had forgotten about the rhythm and regularity to it--it's paradoxically magical. A calming rush.

And then all of the colors started changing. God, the sun starts setting so early now. And so we headed to the bandshell--because that's what you do after you swing at souderton park, le duh. And we laid down, the sun started relaxing too--finally falling behind the flag so if you closed your eyes the shadows made a strobe light against your eyelids. For a long time we were there--silent, perfectly, comfortably silent. Then the spell broke. Time was calling.

Ever the party pooper, time is.

But anyway. Thanks Angee.