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Description
i'll grab old paper yellowed with age and the smell of wisdom soaked into its sheets.  the porch swing will rock as i attempt to think of words to write down; the black ink will leave a few splotches to remind me nothing is perfect.  i'll feel it's somehow important, but i won't remember why.

children play in the next yard, reminding me of how blissful ignorance and youth's naivete can be.  i'll take a breath of the sweet autumn air, the perfume of crunched leaves, and smile to myself like the grumpy old man who acts like he hates the weather and laughter of children but secretly enjoys it very much behind the living room's curtains.

and the first sprinkles of rain over emeralds and gold standing thirteen feet high will signal something even more significant, will spark a memory that makes me feel as though i shall float when i walk, never touching the ground in utter happiness.  the fog will roll in like clouds to stumble through, enclosing the gems and me among ruby and amber fallen leaves.

and i will write all of this down on the paper so it can be documented, remembered for another day.  to will be my heart, from will be my mind.  a shiny stamp of muted sapphires  and a garnet seal of wax will adorn the envelope.  i'll put the post in the mailbox and wait with the little red flag up.

and then i will remember that there is no post on sundays, but that monday is only one day away.

Description
i'll grab old paper yellowed with age and the smell of wisdom soaked into its sheets.  the porch swing will rock as i attempt to think of words to write down; the black ink will leave a few splotches to remind me nothing is perfect.  i'll feel it's somehow important, but i won't remember why.

children play in the next yard, reminding me of how blissful ignorance and youth's naivete can be.  i'll take a breath of the sweet autumn air, the perfume of crunched leaves, and smile to myself like the grumpy old man who acts like he hates the weather and laughter of children but secretly enjoys it very much behind the living room's curtains.

and the first sprinkles of rain over emeralds and gold standing thirteen feet high will signal something even more significant, will spark a memory that makes me feel as though i shall float when i walk, never touching the ground in utter happiness.  the fog will roll in like clouds to stumble through, enclosing the gems and me among ruby and amber fallen leaves.

and i will write all of this down on the paper so it can be documented, remembered for another day.  to will be my heart, from will be my mind.  a shiny stamp of muted sapphires  and a garnet seal of wax will adorn the envelope.  i'll put the post in the mailbox and wait with the little red flag up.

and then i will remember that there is no post on sundays, but that monday is only one day away.