they holler at mothers and fathers getting dinner on the stove, mowing the lawn real quick after work, answering a text:
"i'm just goin' up to the corner and back."
she likes to play on the right side of the street where the cars can't see her when they turn,
and daddy shouts back a "be careful" and a "watch for cars," holding onto a tiny little bit of his next inhale until she gets back 25 minutes later.
it is not a gathering place, this corner.
it is a destination, a boundary, a spot to get to and then turn back
after a little bit of wandering in its wideness
in the place where two paths come together and offer the kind of space that can be an opportunity.
today: oil stains, mosquitoes, one dog-walker, a white camry waving, some kind of gold car rolling through.
a pile of tiny rocks, inexplicable. crunchy and slimy leaves, year round.
dirty stop sign hangs in at an angle standing a sloppy guard over the whole lovely mess.
one tiny open space
So, I'll be doing some creative writing here like what you just read, too. Bits and pieces of fact and fiction. One small way to keep myself creating.
Each day this week, I'm touching on the kinds of things I'll be writing about here at one broken teapot. If you think these explorations are interesting or helpful, you can subscribe to have my blog posts delivered to your inbox. It's easy, and it's free.