Wednesday, October 13, 2004
I watched a street light on Collingwood St. flick on and off. Usually with three minute intervals in between the on and off flickering. I plan on making a poem out of this incident and submit it for class on Friday. I was, or am having troubles with writing a poem for this friday submission. I thought perhaps I would rummage through old journals but I'd feel guilty and useless if I just pulled something from the faded pages and submit it as if I had just written it this week. It would almost seem like plagiarizing the past. Something is bound to scribble itself down onto pages, as it usually does in the early mornings of Fridays.
I also made note of the distinct smell of the street post. It reminded me of my deceased grandmother and her once happy home where my siblings and myself would play crokinole, even though we had no idea how to properly play, but flicking the small discs around was entertaining enough. I miss that house dearly. It had such character to it, and I have fond memories of eating the grass out on my grandmother's front lawn.
I also made note of the distinct smell of the street post. It reminded me of my deceased grandmother and her once happy home where my siblings and myself would play crokinole, even though we had no idea how to properly play, but flicking the small discs around was entertaining enough. I miss that house dearly. It had such character to it, and I have fond memories of eating the grass out on my grandmother's front lawn.
