Thirty to Forty,
Random numbers which hold so much meaning,
They hold within them hope and uncertainty,
Can I craft that many pages?
In the time that is left?
10 or so by the 7th,
another 10 or so by the 13,
The last by the 14th.
Can my brain do it?
Can my fingers do it?
Can all that is me do it?
Will they reflect the thoughts and ideas that are needed?
Raise the right questions?
Provide answers to none?
Why so many, or so few?
Both pages and topics?
Topics of my choosing for two, and yet I have no idea for three.
So little time, so little focus, so much to do.
Will I make it, will I see them in?
Random questions, thoughts and more upon my mind as the term comes to a close, summer seems so near, and yet so far. Out side the window I see cars with white stuff upon them, green glass with white dust over it. I hear the birds chirping, but not the great songs of just days ago. Are they wondering as well?
— Lyle II