Ten.Two Thousand, Three Hundred & Ninety-Three
One last desert sunrise.
I move through the space, feeling unencumbered., feeling lighter.
A whole pot of decaf to myself, ready for the slowness of the morning.
A morning glory muffin. Every bite hints at a memory that won’t fully come into focus.
Sanctuary. Protection or a safe place…
I tell him that mental health days are a real thing.
Frank Lloyd Wright’s Taliesin West. Destruction of the box. Nature of the site. Nature of the materials. Designing for democracy. Repetition and rhythm. Reflection pool. Bouganvelia. I imagine being one of the apprentices building the walls, installing the canvas screens, stacking wood for the fires.
The lady in the printed dress.
“He’s my day one,” he says. “She’s my day one, too.”
All I can do is close my eyes.
