I like to imagine my feet taking root in
the ground. On a wet land, my feet getting stuck at a particular position.
Maybe I’ll remove my shoes off so that the process can take speed. The loose
earth in between my toes will soon be filled with moss. Oh boy! Leaves will
grow from my fingers.
I will probably make a good tree. On some May
day like this one, people would stop by to take a breather under my shade. I
would prefer old couples. Naughty in their hearts and careful in their touch.
To get their glands secret some adrenalin, I would let my leaves fall over
them. But what I’ll need is some cool breeze.
Summers are bad with cool things. They
don’t really get along. Summers make me really thirsty. And when I’ll grow into
a tree I will need some water more than usual. If nobody would water me, I
don’t think it will be a crime to go down on my knees and lick the grass.
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