it blows

As I return to the wind, I am reminded of the freedom of childhood games: throwing leaves in the air to watch them swirl above me and soon fall to the ground, throw oak seeds in the air to watch them spin like a helicopter, and imagine ragweed bouncing down the street.

I pride myself in being a girl and having hair that I can unabashedly free from captivity and let soar. The wind makes it alive. As it whips, it doesn't think of being polite or reserved. Don't get me wrong, boys too can experience this freedom, but rare is the case.

Just sitting here looking and connecting with my surroundings grounds me to simple pleasures I often overlook. Pleasures of the feel of an ant crawling over my arm and the feel of every hair being pushed aside. A green bug has landed on my jeans. It's made it from one leg to the other crawling and exploring the grooves and bends of the fabric. It's like watching an obstacle course. It's been five minutes that I have watched this little bug. It's made it all the way across my pants to my left shirtsleeve. bugs are weird.