Twenty-Second

[written July 31st. posted now]

I have a sort of secret. It's not a real secret, it's not hidden tucked away in a drawer of shame, I just don't talk about it much. In nature, I have a weird appreciation for when it smells bad. Awkward as it is, it's true.

I'm sitting in front of a junky little like on the border of Hanover Park and Schaumburg. I'm sitting by it's man made vent thing, which probably explains the waters creepy color, and I have geese to the left of me. There is funny, hopefully plant stuff on the water, and directly in front of where I'm sitting, there is semi recent goose poop. And it smells. There are signs of the grass dying, and I can smell it. It smells hard, and the poop is pungent. The water smells, but I'm not sure like what. All I know is it's nothing good. And...for whatever weird reason...I'm happy here. Because right now, surrounded by all this...this bit of nature surrounded by what man has made...it feels honest. It certainly smells honest.

And I think that isn't how it is for a lot of people. Too many people I know are down with honesty. Because sometimes...it can smell bad. But in my experience, lies and fake things and dishonesty smell a lot worse. So I'll take a smelly lake over a beautifully furnished room indoors on a gorgeous day every time.

But hey. Thats just me.