I love life.
I adore many things on this beautiful planet. I feel passion for most things (sans country music (sorry, not sorry), mainstream media, and dun dun dun… the news!) in life, and I make a point of feeling passion for the small things. The gentle ring of a robin’s tune – carried on the soft caress of the warm, summer wind. The industrial hum of the local dispatch factory, and the chitter-chatter-pitter-patter of squirrels tormenting my poor cats.
I adore the soft white river rock settling unfamiliarly with jagged aggregate lining the cracked asphalt road. Waves of heat dance and dazzle along the rolling, black horizon.
I am passionate about the cicadas screaming at dawn, the alligators’ chirping staccatos breaking up wump-wumping bull frogs arguing for space among the lily pads.
I revel in the tiger coat of my pumpkin-colored cat, dazzle in the dark chocolate-mocha hues of my black feline. The honking geese with no regard for their bathroom habits. The yellowing grass weeping for water. I am passionate about how the body ripples under taut skin. How the chest inflates with each breath. How the sun rises… day after day.
I am passionate about being alive.