To know things
Random musings
38 Arnold House
It’s raining. I heard it before I looked outside. There’s a sycamore hushing in our direction and the sound taps the window.
When I was younger, I would lean my head out the front door and listen to the sounds of the suburb, blanketed by a softening whirr. At times, I could visualise the life cycle of a raindrop. Birthed from a hunkering cloud, soaring through the air and atomising on impact with the ground.
The exhilaration of flying, directed by gravity and drifting with the wind. Sometimes you’d break apart and be absorbed again by larger droplets.
United in a shared fate, nothing complicated; to start and to end. To tumble earthbound; splitting and joining and cutting through the mist.
A sky of like-minded bodies, harmonised by the same end.
To know things
I hated walking. You would have to drag me and I hated that too. In all honesty, there wasn’t much I liked back then. Not because I was sad or stubborn, but because I knew nothing. I think I needed to know things to care.
Beyond the basic stuff, it had to be something I understood. Spongebob, The Hobbit, my fantastical worlds - those I grasped - those I loved. Places I relied on. Places where I slipped when the outside became restless and uninviting.