That's Just the Way We Are
I sat by the window in the arm chair and looked through the window, watching the familiar palm tree waving its arm. The trees around it seemed to also wave, as if dancing in a familiar rhythm as the wind blew through the cracks of the leaves that were now firm and green after the long July summer. Some trees brushed tips and clutched together, as if determined not to let go.
My eyes traveled upwards, staring absently at the blue sky that covered the neighborhood with firmness, unchanging and ever same. I drew my arms around my knees and let my chin rest on the hard bone, my eyes ever fixed on the points outside, watching as some children tagged each other and fell on the soft green grass that welcomed them with ever-welcome arms.
It seemed then I was tired and yet internally content.
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