Whirlwind of Kleenex

I sit at the computer. I listen to Michelle Branch and Aaron Sprinkle and Shawn Colvin and Sarah Harmer. They are perfect for this gray sky outside. The tree in my neighbor's yard is being swayed gently, infinitesimally, by the slight breeze. I reflect. It's graduation time. People are leaving, they are talking about leaving, and rain is drizzling, thin points of gray sinking into the still green grass. I sit here, feeling prententious because I used the word "infinitesimally," and because I had to look up the spelling first.

I will miss them.