Ten.Four Hundred & Fifty-One
Darkness. A little bit of light from the full moon.
Chop onions, chop peppers, wash the potatoes. Start the cooking. Hope that they don’t decide to wake up until after everything is already done.
Now I remember why I stopped making these for breakfast.
The air outside is more humid than I thought it would be. The sky is low and dark and it feels comforting.
I fold in the blueberries and think of how this might be the last time I get to sit with them on a Tuesday. morning drinking coffee.
The role of the artist.
I do love a good bell bottom jean. I don’t care if it’s in season or not.
As we drive past open fields and leaning houses I am longing for a long drive in the country. It’s good to be reminded of how much open space still exists. And I find detritus intriguing. I wonder who still lives in these almost-forgotten places. I wonder what kind of light falls through the old and dusty windows or the cracks in the barns.
We stand outside and watch the trash cans blow from one side of the street to the other. I am ready for a good storm.
They never even came.