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metaphor
“Let the labyrinth of wrinkles be furrowed in my brow with the red-hot iron of my own life, let my hair whiten and my step become vacillating, on condition that I can save the intelligence of my soul – let my unformed childhood soul, as it ages, assume the rational and esthetic forms of an architecture, let me learn just everything that others cannot teach me, what only life would be capable of marking deeply in my skin!”
~
there are times..
it’s good to trust that voice inside your head
but only if it’s your own
prediction
The Farmer’s Almanac was his Bible
It was going to be a harsh winter
a neighborhood story
secret gardens and satellite dishes
“I always wanna sit down with my mom and talk bout old neighborhood stories.”
~
Licht Years 