With the windows and doors closed and the morning dark, nothing grabs me: no birds, no wind, no swirl of cloud or peek-a-boo light. With no focus, the words stay hidden ā difficult to extract. Twenty-four, then thirty-four, Iām tugging and pulling them to fifty-two. Clementines, two bags of chips, blue ceramic bowl.
TurtleSloth
Slow Meanderings
