Hemp Granola and Drumsticks

I have arrived--I couldn't have gotten here soon enough--literally! All the way here, I was thinking about all the things I could write about today. I sit on the grass, my back leaning against a lamp-post in the park on Everett and Park, one block down from where I was on Monday. There are more people in the park today it seems. I brought granola and yogurt with me to eat. Now I eat. I mixed my strawberry vanilla hemp granola in with my strawberry yogurt. I'm not quite sure why it's called "hemp"-but it sure tastes swell--even the cashier was befuddle. At any rate...hemp granola. I am eating hemp granola. First item of business is out of the way. I thought about my medicine wheel while driving down here today. It's supposed to bring good feelings and reminds us to respect mother nature and become one with nature. It brought me good feelings. The favorite part of my journey downtown is first entering the city. I take Barnes Rd--it winds through the forest, the sunlight flickering through the breaks and shadows. It's psychedelic really. The trees cease to be, the sun breaks through, and I see the first sign of downtown. A good feeing overwhelms me--I am overtaken by this feeling--I HAVE ARRIVED> This is where I belong. The city has embraced me, as I have afore said. I have hugged back.
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I finish my yogurt parfait: awesomely delicious. In my bag I carry drumsticks: today they keep the beat for the song of downtown. They drive the song; and since I am the one to carry them, I guess that means that I drive the song. Yes, today I drive the song for downtown; styling with my hat, rocking with my Sanuks, cruising in my skinny jeans. Today is a marvelous day to compose a song with downtown. Yeah, today is a good day. The grass is vibrant green, swaying to my music in rhythm with the breeze. My eyes are tired today; even with all the beautiful things around here, they do not want to stay open. I would love a cup of caffeinated tea now. Which reminds me that I stopped at a tea store and had some samples. The green tea mixture was the best. The fellow there was nice too. I can hear the song: *clank clank from construction; *bugs fluttering; *bicycles ticking; *basketball bouncing; *grass swaying; *car whizzing; *cell phone ringing; *chit-chatting; *dogs barking; *skateboard gliding; *drunks yelling; *car radios blaring; *high heels clicking on pavement; *plane soaring above; *flies buzzing; *all the while my drumsticks keeping the beat. I do like the beat, but the melody is even better: it tells of and diversityacceptance. It's a beautiful song, it really is. And the force that drives it today: ME! How grand a thought! I don't write much today: I cannot focus: there are too many sights to see; too many sounds to hear; too many feelings. Downtown is filled with everything today: everything good. I see particle board covering once open windows, chipping paint on concrete walls, a few white puffy clouds and a few white wispy clouds, the green color inundates me. The Irish hippie just left. I have been observing him since I arrived. His red hair is matted. His ride: a bicycle. The breeze is chilly on my bare ams. Dudes with long boards walk by and take up residence on a bench across the grass. One of them has long hair; one of them has an afro; "the other?" you ask, is "normal." The sun has found me through the trees and creates a billion shadows on my notebook and the surrounding grass. I like it. A baby yellow ladybug lands on my notebook: "Are there any boy ladybugs? And if there are, what are they called?" The answer: "Yeah, the Beatles." I now see a Jude Law look-a-like. He passes by and goes out of sight. I love the bumpy surface that the bark on trees: the texture it creates is epic. In slight, I am in love with barky trees I guess. I guess?!?! Who am I kidding?(*Myself). I LOVE trees. I haven't climbed a tree in so long. I must needs do that soon. I also must soon leave this patch of green grass that I have claimed for the last amazing hour. It has been a good patch to me. I thank it. I respect it: just like my medicine wheel taught me to do. There was an instant silence in the city. Almost all activity and noise ceased(except for my drumsticks keeping the beat). Time for a DRUM SOLO! I rock on. I give myself seven minutes to wrap this up and wind down. Now it seems that I have so much to write and my pen cannot write fast enough. I am pressed for time. Which of my thoughts will be written down in this short span of time? They all jump out of the tornado-like vortex, each wanting to be written. Some are quickly sucked back in. I resign my drumsticks and hemp granola for now and I get serious. Four minutes.....I discuss hair. It seems to be that a hairstyle defines a person. Dread locks, afros, long, short, wedge, mullet, curly, straight, even the color. I have decided that when I am 80 years old and fearless(whichever comes first), I will dye my hair jet black and get dreads. By this time, I will own a trailer park and the style will be suitable for someone of my standing: owner and manager of Ritz Palace Estates: Trailer Homes. I will be famous and fearless: fearlessly famous...famously fearless. The me of the future.
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Sights on my trek back to my car: girl on a park swing alone, not swinging. girl on the park play structure, sitting on a concrete step alone. "ponce de leon". dread locks. shirtless man. fruit tattoos on calf muscles. eyeglasses to die for. a man dancing interpretively in the park--I can drum to that. a man whistling that song of "Diversity and Acceptance" to the beat of my drumsticks.
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Good day, good day.