Ten.Five Hundred & Forty-Seven
I should stop talking to myself and just get up and wash my face.
Pale blue sky, green palm leaves, golden glowing lemons.
I realize that the colors of Fever Dreams are the same as the colors of the Bird of Paradise.
It is probably too cold to take them up the mountain to eat. Well, too cold for us. This time next year I’ll have us fitted with the right kind of clothing. A new way of living sometimes requires a new way of dressing.
I pull the chair into a block of sunlight, place the jar of water by my feet, and a journal on my lap. The words come much faster today. This is a good sign.
And the introductions begin. I had forgotten how comforting it is to circle like this.
I still can’t print.
The gloaming. The clouds are tinged orange, the blue looks pale and thin. My feet are still cold.
The smell of very burn cheese.