swirl of sun, just enough for me to sip my tea and read about john brown’s noble hanging. i’d like to read on, through the sunset, till the last fingerlet of light dies, but instead i lug my body over to the computer and type up notes for a commissioned essay i fear i may never finish. oh god how i crave a long, luscious walk in gold dusted dusk, snapping pictures of all things pink: moist blooms, a waxy starburst wrapper, discarded ankle socks glowing against the dirty yellow grass. or maybe i would drive to the canyons, echo mountain, stand beneath that trickle the state of california calls a “waterfall” and shoot myself half-nude. my glorious youth. instead, i stay inside.
take a shower to feel closer to nature.