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2012-01-03 - 11:33 p.m.

home for the holidays.

1. hiking through the woods to brother anthony's cabin, i discovered he had extended silence over sign language and the written word. a cup of tea, a worn plaid blanket around my shoulders. i realized how much of my conversation is meant to pull information out of other people.

2. down the shore, the wind blew in like a wall. a post-apocalyptic light swept over the abandoned military base, and i ran up the crumbling concrete slabs like a leaf in a breeze.

3. the birds in the golden grass were crisp and careful as paint-by-numbers.

4. nobody died, and nobody went crazy.

5. the falling snowflakes caught the light, shining like fireflies.


* * *


reading: a biography of alice james.
listening to: matthew and the atlas.
working on: setting them up and knocking them down.
in the garden: the ume are blooming on campus. i'll never get over this.


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