She sings
The day is perfect and I am alone in a structure designed for meditation and draped with grape leaves. Behind me through multi-colored sheets the sun blazes and people march singing loudly. A band plays.
I find meditation in wrapping yarn around a string. I find it in picking a deep red cherry tomato off of the plant. It finds me...
...I am dazzled by the layers of life. In my sickness and groggy haze I live in perpetual gratitude disguised as apathy I am so joyous to be alive, to not be suffering, to have a home, food, shelter, the rain...
...comes.
Long ago I remember the stringy sirens voice, cascading like a small stream over sharp rocks, Diane Cluck and a glass of fruity wine in a Maine café. I make art and remember psychedelic drugs on my bed with a friend and remember my Moony friend and our stormy and wild adventures in a time not so long ago and yet very far away.