He’s one of those people that interrupts at the perfect time. Every time. Like tonight. I was about to get ready for this annual New Year’s fondue party my parents host. Every year. That’s what annual means. Like tonight. He’s got this really strange ability to say the right words, with precise diction and limited syllables. And he makes me think. Often more than I want to. Not normally because he wants to. But somehow always on purpose. Not necessarily his purpose. Or my purpose. But on purpose. He points out those things that creep in the corners. He makes them real. He reminds me what’s worth seeing as real. That it isn’t all. That the important things are. And those ones lurk the most. He’s got faith. Shaky. But the shakes help it grow. It’s roots have been built up. With all his shaking they have to be. And the tree above. It’s more beautiful than most. Unconventional. Skinny. Clear. Beautiful. It interrupts skylines and obstruct the sunset view. But it constantly reminds that being grounded like a shadow is the way we were meant to move.
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