Boats huddle together as if to stay warm. It seems as if they should be sailing, making use of a beautiful day. The light stays longer now, but I must remind myself what month and what season we are in. A year has passed since our collective ill journey began, when all was locked down and minds were made uncertain. Hopefully the path will halt before it takes a turn into another direction of unwell.
A clear mind is the color of this blue sky. A blue rope is wound with its end ready to be pulled, to be useful and tightly held. Wooden horses cluster together, breaking from their utility.