The sounds of rain coming from the tiny Bluetooth speakers.

Drops of melted ice cream on the counter. A stack of dirty bowls.

I am the source of time.

I lay on my back and watch the shifting shadows. Spider webs swaying.

“…breath is a portal…”

I hear all the things.

I just don’t understand the rules. Also, I’m not too fond of the rules that I do understand.

I decide to book myself an appointment at the library because it seems like an act of self-care.

It feels warm in the sun. Warmer than it should at only 60 degrees. Gratitudes.

I walk the path while I wait for my appointment time. Mustard. Some kind of pea or bean with purple blooms. Head-trained vines stand poised and solid like queens. I look up toward Mount Saint Helena. For a moment, everything feels right.

A whole library to yourself but then feeling worried about touching too many books.