Walking down Kingston with friends, so happy to be in their company once again. Hearing a language that is foreign, yet so so familiar. Out of place, yet belonging all the same. The scent in the air, that feeling, that knowledge that something is about to happen. The human mechanism that tries to prepare for a blow, and yet can never duck quick enough. It is coming, oh yes, and we can't stop it. These times, they are almost upon us. You know of what I speak. You know, because you think about it too.
Op-Ed: They’re coming….
As the sound of rain makes pitter patter noises at my window, and it conjures up an image of little feet in padded slippers, pajama bottoms, steaming cups of hot cocoa, wind, howling outside, thunder so loud it makes you bolt upright in the middle of the night, while you were having a sweet sweet dream, lighting that strikes so fast and so bright, for a second you are not sure if it is day or night. Almost like a pilot that can’t tell the difference between sky and ground. Fingers tapping at the keys so fast they are getting ahead of themselves and tripping over the words. Excitement building inside of you, this bubble that grows and grows and feels like its gonna burst. Shivering with excitement, shivering with cold, shivering with lack of sleep. So many things colide together to form one great picture.
Walking down Kingston with friends, so happy to be in their company once again. Hearing a language that is foreign, yet so so familiar. Out of place, yet belonging all the same. The scent in the air, that feeling, that knowledge that something is about to happen. The human mechanism that tries to prepare for a blow, and yet can never duck quick enough. It is coming, oh yes, and we can’t stop it. These times, they are almost upon us. You know of what I speak. You know, because you think about it too.
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