Flowers Fruit Trees Head Stones

As usual we're broke. The thunder last night made me think of roses. The flashes of lightening of what it must be like to have heard Jesus speak. No, I'm making that up. Mostly these days the conversations are about money, land. A deer running full-tilt last night, so much so I expected a pack of howling dogs to follow. Yes, like that.

I sit a certain way because I'm cold. I'm prone to lists, also to the first person. In last night's dream, I had to navigate a subterranean river but once I did I found a snack bar. It was all a game. Yet after talking to my sister the same heavy feeling that always accompanies family. Storm clouds are reassuring, as are pentatonic scales.

Sophie riding Solskin like Kevin Costner at the beginning of Dances With Wolves. Arms flung out, head back. M. sort of crawled through the brown grass before pushing upright. I worked on A Tea Thrice, amazed at how the sentences kept shrinking. Carrots burst in the mouth, so much juice one wonders how they hold together. What else wonderful begins in the dirt. Flowers, fruit trees, head stones.