Ponytails

I don't know. This title probably doesn't mean anything. I took a walk around the city today during work. I noticed all these little things. Things that people probably don't usually notice, or at least I don't imagine that they notice them. Like when the wind is blowing a little bit, the leaves on the ground move around like they are slithering, like they are crawling, like they are making a great escape, like they are trying not to be stepped on. Some of them though? They seem more like they ARE trying to be stepped on. Little suicidal leaves with a death wish. Maybe they know that the world is supposed to end tomorrow. Or maybe they are among those who instead think that tomorrow marks the beginning of a shift in consciousness. We won't ever know. Not until someone discovers a way to speak to leaves, and to understand their language and intentions. Then it was wine o'clock. In the office. One of the execs is leaving. I'm trying to start using only one space after each sentence. It's difficult. We get so trained to do things a certain way, so conditioned to do the right thing (or at least what we believe to be the right thing.) Shifting is hard. And I feel like there is a lot of shifting going on. In my own life, in my son's life. In the lives of my friends, my family, my colleagues. We are constantly re-imagining ourselves and the world around us. I have a weird fascination with ponytails. The way that we can get so attached to something as bizarre as the hair that grows out of our skulls. Dead already by the time we see it. Yet we keep it there, wash it, and touch it, and take really good care of it. Most of the time. Yet we so rarely take care of each other. We should take better care of each other.