Dear Lady,
Here I sit, reverent inside this van that has given up on life (there are so many instances in life that would have me wish I were born a mechanic, and yet in my heart I know that's not for me).
The owners of the establishment where it stalled out have been quite kind: I've been offered water, a seat in their air conditioned office, and a slice of ice cream cake. I've declined each offer, expressing gratitude in turn. Each item offered has been quite attractive in its own right, but I am simply enjoying this moment to sit in solitude outside.
So much of my life is wrapped up in buildings and offices—even in this position I currently hold where I can be "out and about" I am still only out and about to go from one building or office to the next. It is better than being stuck in one solitary office all day, but no match for a life spent out of doors listening to the songs of summer (and no, I'm not talking about Taylor Swift on the radio). There is a beauty in the sounds of the outdoors—even when carried about by the creations of man.
I hear birds conversing in the mess of trees around me.
The wind is whispering through the leaves (a much softer sound than the crash and crunch of the wind in autumn trees).
Cars, along the highway beside me, pass in rhythm with the occasional thundering bass of a semi rolling by.
Oh! Here's the tow truck—I'll see you in a bit.
.a boy
