Stonerisms

Part 1.

I remember things when the weather hits my skin a certain way.

I remember a children's art museum. I got finger puppets.

I remember the snow, a swamp porch I have never stepped foot on.

Whether the weather reminds me of Christmas in Hillsborough, where my young friends were like sisters, we held hands, it still stands that thought is provoked by the way the wind smells in the middle of July.

Part 2.

Yeehaw--I am so fucking high.