Ten.Six Hundred & Five
The sound of palms whipping back and forth.
Granola. Smoothie. Nettles and oat straw infusions.
Wait. Why is my nose running?
They say there might be rain but the clouds are parting and a little bit of sun is creeping through. Clouds are resting on the peak of Mt. Diablo. Hot coffee in my hand.
Bistecca, bistecca, bistecca. She must have mentioned bistecca alla florentina half a dozen times and now I think we ought to have steak for dinner.
Yes. Let’s pretend we’re in Italy for tonight, or some other place that is home but also not quite home. A little bit of beef, prepared simply with oil, salt, and pepper, served with a root vegetable puree and sauteed spinach. That other bottle of Chianti.
Back home so quickly.
Pictures of high water, flooded streets, flooded buildings, people in kayaks.
A running nose. Great. I know what this will turn into. Also, how is this possible? Between all of the liquids I’ve been taking plus the antibiotics plus the vitamins. And still. It finally found its way to me.
Dream, dream, dream.