So I'm writing this is big sloppy cursive letters 'Grow Up'.
Listened to Meadowlarks on the hill this morning, I could almost push the sound of morning traffic out entirely. I've never been here in February, the taller wet grass makes paws wet. There is a moment of animation when the sun breaks making day. Not past or future, but remarkably a 'now'. pinpointed.

Smiles from passers by cease, they will not extend their shadow of lower lip to chin. I enter a pre-sunrise elite. That wink and nod, precursor to neighborly conversation.
okay,
but my dog can still beat up your dog