Before the big bang

I am trying to be less sentimental of a person. That is in truth, an exercise in futility. The fact that I acknowledge my tendency to insert emotion into every little thing is actually a step for me that deserves recognition; a plaque or a small statue maybe. I fully realize that counting hawks and inventing stories for the people in the dusty old photos in a box in a garage in Indiana are indeed silly but that will not stop me from adding hash marks and scratching words into paper and taking photos of myself in front of things. There is nothing that inspires nostalgia without the benefit of shrouds and stays like walking in a summer rain. The initial instinct is to run, try to beat the downpour. Rain falls hard, quick. Seconds go by before the fact sets in that you will get wet. Very wet. Then you give up and realize you are at the mercy of the universe. Nothing left to do but embrace the sky as it tumbles down to you, for you.