bird shitI think back to … no. Wait. The memory comes of its own accord, a random moment from my life sprouts butterfly wings and flutters by.

            Given that I’m in my 60s, there exists the potential for great swarms of memories. Thank god they’re butterflies and not birds. There would be bird shit everywhere.


About Gregg M. Pasterick

Old and tired...
This entry was posted in A Verbal Scrapbook, autobiography, humor, memories, travels through life, Uncategorized and tagged , . Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s