2013-11-11 - 10:08 a.m.
a body, a name, a process
last night, it smelled like snow. the clouds moved across the sky like ripples on a sandbar.
this morning, there is laundry on the line. leaves are falling, carried here and there on gusts of wind. the sunshine is so real, it hurts.
how strange this all is. how remarkable.
* * *
reading: the other, by thomas tryon.
listening to: rudy wiedoeft with lenzberg's riverside orchestra - karavan.
working on: well, i did something to the broken toilet, although i am not sure if "something" is the same as "fixing."
in the garden: later in the week, we expect the first hard frost.