Ten.Four Hundred & Fifty-One
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Darkness. A little bit of light from the full moon.
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Chop onions, chop peppers, wash the potatoes. Start the cooking. Hope that they don’t decide to wake up until after everything is already done.
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Now I remember why I stopped making these for breakfast.
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The air outside is more humid than I thought it would be. The sky is low and dark and it feels comforting.
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I fold in the blueberries and think of how this might be the last time I get to sit with them on a Tuesday. morning drinking coffee.
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The role of the artist.
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I do love a good bell bottom jean. I don’t care if it’s in season or not.
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As we drive past open fields and leaning houses I am longing for a long drive in the country. It’s good to be reminded of how much open space still exists. And I find detritus intriguing. I wonder who still lives in these almost-forgotten places. I wonder what kind of light falls through the old and dusty windows or the cracks in the barns.
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We stand outside and watch the trash cans blow from one side of the street to the other. I am ready for a good storm.
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They never even came.