twenty-four september
eleven : fifty a.m.

the crows and the geese are flying overhead.

it reminds me of all the times i used to escape out the back door, jog to the playground, and swing for hours beside the sunburnt cornfield. in autumn, the birds would flock there to eat all the leftover kernels, and i would watch, and listen, and pretend that we were the only things around for miles.