The weather’s acting like a teenager: radical unhappiness, then blind joy.
Distance in the distance.
On nature walks, information about bugs and birds ballooned and hovered in a spot above the counselor’s head.
Cartoon talk in a language I wouldn’t learn.
That is why I screamed today when I saw a spider on my blanket.
Forests look inviting, but I like them to remain mysterious.
I like them to look like illustrations to The Blue Fairy Book, all Art Nouveau curlicue and flourish.
The ideal way I savor a forest is to say it, read it.
