The Blue, The Gray, and The Green

A normal gray and drizzling rainy day in Petaluma, walking to school are two mothers, one with brown hair and sunglasses and one with short buzzed gray hair and an olive complexion, and two young and petite children. One child is lively and jittering around with her puffy brown hair billowing behind her, while the other is smirking behind her golden and ratty blonde hair covering half of her face. They reach the daunting square in the middle of the road, the crosswalk. A cheerful old women with soft white hair leads the mothers and their children into the chaos of cars with a big, bright, red sign, screaming,” stop,” but one car disobeys. The bright electric blue ford truck steps over the line causing my mother to throw me out of the way letting the huge grizzly inky black tires crush her. I on the other hand blacked out as soon as the ash colored and pebble covered pavement hit my head. I was in kindergarten at the time of the accident, only receiving a scrape on my hip where the scar resides faintly today, and a scratch on my forehead with no memory left of it. The accident was the setting stone for fear, anxiety, and stress to plague my life in the near distant future. Childhood is all about innocence, but sometimes your innocence can be crushed by someone else’s mistake.

Splashing waves surround the old boat as it makes wakes in the water while flowing by. The turquoise and navy water has a sense of calmness before it is crushed by the boat. The white water splashes and bubbles. The smell of salt and freshness in the air lifts every spirit. Laughter can be heard inside down into the heart of the boat, the galley. The boat though is old with wear, so it needs constant attention by the captain. The boat has even made a trek to Alaska, so this should be a walk in the park. With every knot the boat takes we create waves of happiness that surge through everyone on the boat. The kelp or seaweed we pass by ruffles in the wake like a piece of ribbon. We pass bridges and go underneath the bird poop filled ceiling of it. The water sprays your face making you wake up just a little bit more from this paradise like dream. It helps open your eyes to the world around you, and creates a sensation of belonging. It is better not to question the future, or dwell on the past. Living in the now is most important.

A cracky, unpolished, and misplaced step-stone path filled with moss, leads up to a warm fawn colored manor. The creamy brick is old with age, yet still sparkling like new ahead. The manor has no open windows, to let the guests see in, it is all a mystery. The smell of smoke passes by as a gray haze storms the sky. The path ahead could be leading them to misery or victory, solitude or servitude, greatness or tameness. The path is surrounded by leafy bushes and long grass that commands that you stay on path, but the wanderlust in anyone could convince you otherwise. The greenery around you is striking and vivid and well, green. It would make anyone fall in love instantly. This place is serene and calming, but it could all be taken away in a millisecond. That is life after all. The future for me could be amazing, it could be horribly horrendous, or it could be gone before I even knew or even realized it. The future is not something to ponder about. Because if you think to much about it, it will flash before your eyes, and all of that time spent on thinking about it will have gone to waste.
