November 3, 1997
Entry One

It is one of those days again when I will just sit on my bed, and think, the season is changing... the air sparkles with pine tree pollen, golden and shimmering as the wind carries them to their counterpart. There was a rainstorm a few days before and all the leaves seemed to have gotten cold and prepared for the sleep underground. They put their golden coats and stored their lusious green belongings in the heartwood of their origins. All ready to go. Waiting for their windy ride down to the land of mortality.
The rain.
It smeeled like wet earth. Felt like the echoing touches of hidden memory, light, but refreshing; transparent, but colorful as the landscape. The steps of Parrish were losing their colors, as the raindrops pulled the chalking down to the swirling colors of the dancefloor, now a celebration of free expression, mud and memory.
Ripples ran through. Movement.
Fading footsteps, then all is left is just Fall.

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November 3, 1997 Entry One
It is one of those days again when I will just sit on my bed, and think, the season is changing... the air sparkles with pine tree pollen, golden and shimmering as the wind carries them to their counterpart. There was a rainstorm a few days before and all the leaves seemed to have gotten cold and prepared for the sleep underground. They put their golden coats and stored their lusious green belongings in the heartwood of their origins. All ready to go. Waiting for their windy ride down to the land of mortality. The rain. It smeeled like wet earth. Felt like the echoing touches of hidden memory, light, but refreshing; transparent, but colorful as the landscape. The steps of Parrish were losing their colors, as the raindrops pulled the chalking down to the swirling colors of the dancefloor, now a celebration of free expression, mud and memory. Ripples ran through. Movement. Fading footsteps, then all is left is just Fall.
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