I hug the water, in the parking lots and along the piers. A woman shouts angrily in the distance and another follows from behind. I detour, to lose them both, to enter the quiet of my own mind. I chat with the seagulls, but in an invented world where they can understand.
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.
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.
