Day 684 May 17, 2022

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The Routine 

 I spoke with two different people from Mumbai today. I think I remember what tragedy is. The wind blew strong and this morning a small rodent was splayed open like a brilliant red flower. When I am tired I contemplate lying down and the effort it will take. I was a terrible speller. I am writing with a dog on my lap and a belly full of cereal. The sound on the ipad is on very low and it is like I am working on a very quiet typewriter. The house creaks and doors shift. The forest in the distance loses dimensionality as it loses color, until the trees are cut construction paper pressed against a blue grey sky. The tour guide in China said I was melancholy, but I was just sad. Would you believe me if I said I love you? The house whistles a response. Wood speaks. The agitated air speaks. It is time to tuck the chickens in. 




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