We heard people talking about the US Open, people talking about fir trees. There were girls talking about boys and night time and boys talking about quarterbacks, running backs, and tackles. We heard people talking of the dusk. We heard people talking of how on some summer nights insects hover in the stillness and silence of the twilight searching for pools of water, pools of truth before they decide to annoy us.
Lost children are always called, Lost children cause eyebrows to raise and pupils to bulge, and foreheads to furrow. And someone talks of some quarterback. And someone talks of the night.
And each second there is always time to remember, there is always time for goodness and kindness.
With all the feelings of six year old who lives only for hamburgers, lettuce, cookies, milk, squirt guns, cowboy hats who often stops my thoughts, returns to my imagination with yesterday's dreams, yesterday's lost appreciation for simplicity.
How crowded the sidewalk is today.
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