Rituals are soothing.
—Lewis Warsh
A doe and two fawns
have slipped back into the wood.
I got up this morning,
read a few pages,
climbed down the loft....
It has been about an hour
and ten minutes since I awoke.
It’s a cool morning. Birdsong
I am unfamiliar with is
playing out my window.
Writing from the memory
of hunger. John Tranter’s
The Floor of Heaven on my
table. I have to admit I
found the whole thing
worthwhile.
Dunno his name, though.
Tall, thin, with a tattoo
around his wrist,
in a relationship (open)
with a Swiss guy who
just bought property in
Thailand,
the setting for the novel
I’m reading. One per year.
