Evenings like this make me reflect on college. Evenings before I had several tests, when I felt tense and ready for the next day to be over. I hate to wish my life away, but evenings like this make me wish for time to go faster.
My tests now are certainly not as stressful as other tests have been, but I do feel the familiar tensing. Tomorrow I have two exams and a presentation, but I think that I am prepared and I'm pretty sure that the studying is over for the evening. Only "The Office" reruns await.
This poem makes me appreciate even days like this. I'm lucky to be 25 in this summer in Indiana.
The Life of a Day
--Tom Hennen
Like people or dogs, each day is unique and has its own personality quirks which can easily be seen if you look closely. But there are so few days as compared to people, not to mention dogs, that it would be suprising if a day were not a hundred times more interesting than most people. But usually they just pass, mostly unnoticed, unless they are wildly nice, like autumn ones full of red maple trees and hazy sunlight, or if they are grimly awful ones in a winter blizzard that kills the lost traveler and bunches of cattle. For some reason we like to see days pass, even though most of us claim we don't want to reach our last one for a long time. We examine each day before us with barely a glance and say, no, this isn't one I've been looking for, and wait in a bored sort of way for the next, when, we are convinced, our lives will start for real. Meanwhile, this day is going by perfectly well-adjusted, as some days are, with the right amounts of sunlight and shade, and a light breeze scented with a perfume made from the mixture of fallen apples, corn stubble, dry oak leaves, and the faint odor of last night's meandering skunk.
My tests now are certainly not as stressful as other tests have been, but I do feel the familiar tensing. Tomorrow I have two exams and a presentation, but I think that I am prepared and I'm pretty sure that the studying is over for the evening. Only "The Office" reruns await.
This poem makes me appreciate even days like this. I'm lucky to be 25 in this summer in Indiana.
The Life of a Day
--Tom Hennen
Like people or dogs, each day is unique and has its own personality quirks which can easily be seen if you look closely. But there are so few days as compared to people, not to mention dogs, that it would be suprising if a day were not a hundred times more interesting than most people. But usually they just pass, mostly unnoticed, unless they are wildly nice, like autumn ones full of red maple trees and hazy sunlight, or if they are grimly awful ones in a winter blizzard that kills the lost traveler and bunches of cattle. For some reason we like to see days pass, even though most of us claim we don't want to reach our last one for a long time. We examine each day before us with barely a glance and say, no, this isn't one I've been looking for, and wait in a bored sort of way for the next, when, we are convinced, our lives will start for real. Meanwhile, this day is going by perfectly well-adjusted, as some days are, with the right amounts of sunlight and shade, and a light breeze scented with a perfume made from the mixture of fallen apples, corn stubble, dry oak leaves, and the faint odor of last night's meandering skunk.
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