Here’s a not so traditional Colour Run photo of mine, taken by my singing student. I know. What the heck, right?
This is when you had no plans whatsoever to join the school Colour Run, yet found yourself right in the middle of it, then come back to school to do more after class tuition.
No. Plans. You could tell by my outfit. I still got my kids’ respect after all, so I’m cool.
Also, I would rock the green hair. Don’t you think?
Transitions. Quite a familiar site. A place I have known for so long, I have known too well.
And it feels like I have never left that area. Not that it’s my favourite place.
But it seems fixated within the fabrics of my being.
Every filament breathes out a different story, every crossway speaks of change.
Each endeavour, each hope meticulously interwoven with the fibres of time.
And I walk the tedious walk, along the perpetual intersections.
One transition after another.